The Latin Surgeon
Author
Laura MacDonald
Reads
19,1K
Chapters
10
CHAPTER ONE
THE first time she saw him was on a cold January day when the wind chill made it feel far colder than the actual temperature. Dressed in a long, black overcoat and wearing a black fedora, he was walking briskly along a stretch of pavement towards the hospital, but at that time, of course, Lara had no idea who he was. She was in her car, also approaching the hospital, and within a matter of seconds had overtaken him. As she signalled to turn right into the hospital grounds, he caught up with her. She turned, imagining he would stop and wait for her, but to her dismay he appeared not to have seen her and, with his head down against the wind, carried on walking. With a muttered expletive Lara slammed on her brakes, bringing the car to a halt with a squeal of tyres only inches away from the man.
He stopped short, turning towards her and raising his hands, the gesture a mixture of shock, maybe briefly anger, then irritation as he stepped back onto the kerb to allow her to pass. Very briefly her gaze met his, and beneath the brim of the hat she was aware of olive skin, liquid dark eyes and strong, hawk-like features. With a slight inclination of his head he indicated for her to pass him. Afterwards she was to wonder what it had been about him that had attracted her attention in the first place—the way he moved perhaps, the fact that he was a stranger unknown to her, or maybe it had been his attire. There weren’t too many men of her acquaintance who wore black fedoras. But at the time she was more concerned with the fact that she had almost run him over, and that she was slightly late and needed to move smartly if she was to be on time for report.
By the time she had parked her car in the area assigned to the burns unit of St Joseph’s hospital, locked it and entered the unit by the staff entrance, there was no sign of the stranger. No doubt he was a visitor, or maybe a patient with an appointment. Unwinding her scarf and pulling off her gloves, Lara hurried into the staff changing room where she found her friend and fellow staff nurse Katie Soames, who had already changed into her uniform and was about to leave for the wards.
‘Oh, there you are,’ said Katie. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’
‘I know.’ Lara pulled a face. ‘I’m late. Luke wanted some last-minute help with his homework.’
‘The kids are OK?’ Katie looked faintly anxious, no doubt remembering the many problems Lara faced.
‘Oh, yes.’ Lara nodded. ‘They’re fine.’ She looked frantically around then reached out and touched the doorframe. ‘Touch wood,’ she added hastily. ‘Whenever I say something like that, there is another crisis.’ She didn’t mention the two bills that had arrived that morning—the bills they weren’t sure how they were going to pay. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘I must get changed—you go on. Cover for me if you can—I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.’ As the door closed behind Katie, Lara quickly pulled off her coat then her jumper and jeans, replacing them with the smart tunic and tapered trousers she wore on the unit. Pausing in front of the mirror just long enough to draw her unruly mass of auburn curls back from her face and twist them into a band, she hurried from the changing rooms.
Once on the large, open-plan ward with its central nursing station and four-bedded bays, Lara quickly made her way into the ward sister’s office where the morning report had just got under way. Sue Jackman raised her eyebrows at Lara but made no comment about the fact that she was late, while Lara mouthed the single word ‘Sorry’ and slipped as unobtrusively as possible onto a chair at the back of the room. Desperately she tried to focus her mind and concentrate on what the night sister was telling Sister Jackman and the rest of the day staff.
A patient had been transferred to the burns unit during the night from St Joseph’s accident and emergency unit with severe burns to his chest and arms following a fire at his home started by a smouldering cigarette. Two other patients were scheduled for Theatre that morning for skin grafts following burns, while the remainder of the patients on the ward were in various stages of recovery from burns sustained in accidents.
‘What you may not be aware of this morning,’ said Sue, looking round at her staff over the top of her glasses, ‘is that following Mr Sylvester’s heart attack a locum has had to be found at very short notice to take his place.’
‘So have they got someone?’ asked Katie.
‘Apparently, yes,’ Sue replied. ‘His name…’ she consulted the papers in her hand ‘…is Mr Ricardo and he is a plastic surgeon in a private clinic in London, but he does locum work from time to time.’
‘Sounds interesting,’ said Katie. ‘Do you know anything about him?’
‘No, I don’t.’ Sue shook her head. ‘His name sounds Spanish but, no doubt, we’ll find out soon. He’ll be along shortly to see the two patients who are due for grafts today.’
When report was over Lara made her way onto the ward where she had been assigned the task of preparing one of the two patients who were to have surgery that morning. The patient’s name was Jennifer Reece and she had suffered disfiguring burns to her face in a fire at her home. Her wounds had been treated on the unit following the accident and a skin graft had been discussed and agreed on with John Sylvester, the consultant surgeon attached to the burns unit.
‘So are you saying it won’t be Mr Sylvester doing the operation?’ Jennifer Reece looked at Lara in consternation after hearing that Mr Sylvester was not available.
‘That’s right.’ Lara nodded. ‘Mr Sylvester unfortunately is sick at the moment but I understand a locum has been found to take his place.’
‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that,’ said Jennifer anxiously. ‘It’s taken a lot of courage for me to agree to this skin graft in the first place.’
‘Yes,’ Lara replied sympathetically, ‘I can imagine, and I know you must be very disappointed, but—’
‘So who is this new man?’ Jennifer interrupted. ‘What do you know about him?’
‘Well,’ Lara admitted, ‘I don’t know anything much at all at the moment except that he works at a clinic in London that specialises in cosmetic surgery.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ said Jennifer in alarm. ‘I’ve heard about those clinics—there are a lot of cowboys running those places—you hear all sorts of stories about things going wrong…’
‘You mustn’t worry about that,’ said Lara, seeking to reassure her patient. ‘If St Joseph’s has engaged the services of this man as a locum, you can rest assured that he is highly qualified and that his work is of the highest standard. St Joseph’s has a reputation to maintain.’
‘Even so, I think I would rather wait until Mr Sylvester comes back,’ Jennifer persisted.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Why not?’ Jennifer demanded. ‘He is coming back, isn’t he?’
‘Well, we certainly hope so,’ Lara replied, ‘but he has been very ill and it will take him some considerable time to recuperate. I honestly think, Jennifer, that you would be well advised to let this operation go ahead as planned.’
‘Well, I don’t know…’
‘Look, Sister tells me that this new man is coming onto the ward shortly to meet you and another patient who is going to Theatre today. Why don’t you wait until after you have met him before you make any final decision?’
‘Well…all right, then.’ Jennifer still sounded extremely doubtful but at least Lara had persuaded her not to discharge herself from the ward. For the next quarter of an hour Lara completed the paperwork necessary before any operation, checking Jennifer’s medication and history of previous illnesses and operations, only stopping short at the actual consent signature.
‘I’m sure the surgeon will be here soon,’ she said as she gathered up the papers. Glancing at Jennifer, she realised that she wasn’t listening, that her attention had been taken by something going on at the entrance to the bay. Turning her head to see what Jennifer was looking at, she realised that Sue Jackman had come into the bay and that a man accompanied her.
‘Is that him now?’ asked Jennifer.
‘I don’t know…’ Lara began, then stopped. ‘Oh,’ she said as something about the man struck a chord. He was tall, and at first glance his head appeared shaven, but a closer look revealed that his dark hair was cropped very, very close to his head. He wore dark clothes, a jacket and trousers over a black polo-neck shirt. The last time she’d seen him he’d been wearing a black fedora and a long overcoat, but there was no mistaking those liquid dark eyes or that hawk-like profile. She had almost run him over, she thought in sudden dismay as it dawned on her that the new locum and the man who had stepped out in front of her car that very morning were one and the same person.
‘Mrs Reece.’ Sue was talking and Lara attempted to concentrate, but for some reason found it difficult under the slightly aloof gaze of the surgeon. ‘This is Mr Ricardo. We are extremely fortunate that he has been able to come to St Joseph’s at such short notice to step into Mr Sylvester’s shoes.’
‘Mrs Reece.’ The surgeon inclined his head in the patient’s direction then briefly turned to Lara who was still scrabbling with her papers.
‘Oh, sorry,’ Sue continued. ‘This is Staff Nurse Lara Gregory.’
‘Actually,’ said the surgeon, his eyes like two black pools, ‘we have already met…’
‘Really?’ said Sue in surprise.
‘Or rather I should say we have encountered one another,’ he corrected himself. ‘Staff Nurse Gregory almost ran me over this morning even before I had set foot in the hospital—I think it fair to say she was in something of a hurry.’
The implication was clearly that she had been driving too fast and Lara felt herself flush. ‘I doubt it would have happened had you been looking where you were going,’ she retorted crisply.
For one moment there was silence then a startled Sue hastened to defuse the sudden tension, which to her must have appeared to erupt out of nowhere. ‘Is all the paperwork completed, Nurse Gregory?’ she asked crisply.
‘No,’ Lara replied. ‘Mrs Reece isn’t at all certain that she wants an unknown surgeon to perform her skin graft—she had been counting on it being done by Mr Sylvester.’ She could hardly believe she had said that—under normal circumstances in such a situation she would have been far more discreet, especially in front of a locum surgeon, but there had been something about this man that had antagonised her with his implication that she had been speeding when, in actual fact, it had been entirely his own fault for not looking before he’d stepped into the road. She was aware of Sue’s horrified glance but suddenly she didn’t care.
‘Maybe Mrs Reece and myself should have a little talk.’ Mr Ricardo pulled a chair forward so that he could sit beside Jennifer. As Sue and Lara would have moved away, he lifted one hand. ‘Please, stay, Nurse Gregory,’ he said. ‘Maybe you need to hear this as well.’
For the second time that morning Lara felt the colour rise to her face.
‘So what happened?’ It was later in the morning and Katie had waylaid Lara by the nurses’ station. ‘Sue said Jennifer Reece was at the point of refusing surgery.’
‘She was,’ Lara agreed. ‘But our new locum charmed her to such an extent that by the time he had finished she was practically eating out of his hand.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Well, he started by giving her all the low-down on his qualifications and his background then he talked about her injuries, examined her facial wounds and the donor site on her thigh and gave her a step-by-step guide to the procedure he would use during the actual graft, then he explained what her recovery period would involve and what she can expect in time.’
‘And all that swayed her?’
‘Must have done.’ Lara shrugged. ‘She’s in Theatre now.’
‘So what’s all this about you having a go at him?’ asked Katie curiously.
‘I didn’t have a go at him,’ Lara protested. ‘Well, not exactly.’
‘Sue said you did—she didn’t sound too happy about it. She said there she was, trying to be helpful to him on his first morning, and you attacked him—and in front of a patient as well.’
‘I didn’t attack him!’
‘So what was it all about?’ Katie clearly wasn’t going to let the matter drop. ‘Sue said he’d given the impression that the pair of you had already met. I didn’t know you’d met him.’ She sounded faintly accusing. ‘You never said anything.’
‘That was because I hadn’t actually met him,’ Lara protested. ‘At least, I didn’t know who he was.’
‘So what happened?’ asked Katie. She appeared more curious than ever.
‘He stepped out in front of my car, that’s what,’ said Lara. ‘He quite simply wasn’t looking where he was going and then afterwards he had the nerve to suggest it had been my fault—that I had been driving too fast.’
‘And were you?’ asked Katie mildly.
‘What?’
‘Driving too fast?’
‘No, of course I wasn’t,’ she protested.
‘When was this exactly?’
‘This morning, before I started my shift.’
‘When you were late?’
Lara stared at her friend. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘whose side are you on?’
‘Sorry,’ said Katie with a grin. ‘I’m sure you weren’t driving too fast. I’m sure it was all that nasty Mr Ricardo’s fault.’
‘Yes, well…’
‘Talking of him, where is he from exactly? You said you heard all about his background—is he Spanish?’
‘Actually,’ Lara replied, ‘he’s from Buenos Aires—he told Jennifer Reece his mother is English but his father is from Argentina and that’s where he’s been living and working.’
‘Hmm, interesting,’ said Katie thoughtfully. ‘What did you think of him?’
‘I don’t know enough about him to form an opinion yet,’ said Lara with a shrug.
‘OK, first impressions, then—apart from nearly killing him, of course.’
‘He seems rather aloof.’ Lara wrinkled her nose. ‘Almost as if he’s on some lofty pinnacle far removed from the rest of us mere mortals.’
‘So you didn’t fancy him, then?’ Katie gave a wicked grin.
‘Fancy him? No, of course not. He’s not my type,’ she added lightly. ‘I prefer blond men with blue eyes.’
‘I thought he was rather yummy,’ said Katie.
‘You would,’ said Lara with a sniff.
‘Thank you, Dr Martin, that is looking very neat. I’m sure the lady will be pleased. If I can leave you to finish…’ Andres Ricardo glanced at his assistant then moved away from the operating table after completing Jennifer Reece’s skin graft. The operation had gone well with the new skin taken from her inner thigh and grafted over the site on her face where she had sustained the worst of her burns. After acknowledging the rest of the operating team, he strode from the theatre, pulling off his mask and cap as he did so. Minutes later he had washed and changed out of his theatre greens and boots and into his day clothes. He returned to the consulting room that had been allocated to him.
Briefly he glanced at a few papers on his desk, then crossed to the window and stared out at the hospital grounds. If he was strictly honest, he still wasn’t sure about this locum post, any more than he was completely sure that coming to London and going into partnership with Theo McFarlane and Arun Chopa at the Roseberry Clinic had been the right decision. Outside in the grounds the wind tossed the bare branches of the trees and the grey banks of cloud threatened even more rain. He missed the wide blue skies and the hot sun of his homeland and wished fervently that he was back there, in spite of the fact that Argentina held so many painful memories.
Surely now, after five years, the perpetual ache in his heart that constantly reminded him of Consuela should have subsided a little, but instead of time being the great healer it was supposed to be, if anything the ache had grown worse. In some ways time played strange tricks and diffused the memories, so much so that these days he had to work hard to recall certain details—the softness of her skin as she lay beside him, the way her eyes would flash with laughter or anger, the fall of her thick, dark hair against her sun-kissed shoulders or the gentle curve of her cheek. Sometimes he had to work so hard to recall those things that he would break out in sweat, and in anger and frustration be forced to abandon the attempt. But he mustn’t let those memories go, he thought in sudden desperation, they were all he had. Maybe this elusiveness was because he was in a different country. Maybe he shouldn’t have been persuaded into coming here—maybe, even now, it wasn’t too late to go back.
He had joined the partnership at the Roseberry Clinic at the instigation of his friend and partner, Theo McFarlane, with whom he had trained at medical school and who had gone on to work with him for a time in Buenos Aires. But already he was questioning the move, just as right now he was wondering whether he would live to regret agreeing to the locum work here at St Joseph’s. His friends meant well, he knew that, just as he knew that by trying to open up new opportunities for him and presenting him with new challenges, they were trying to help him to move on in his life. What none of them understood was the fact that not only would he never move on from what he’d had with Consuela but that he didn’t even want to.
A sudden knock at the door jolted him out of his reverie and caused him to turn sharply. ‘Come in,’ he called.
The door opened and the staff nurse who had nearly killed him earlier that day stood on the threshold. ‘I’ve brought you the reports you wanted,’ she said. Did her chin tilt ever so defiantly or was he imagining it? She’d been quite abrasive toward him when he’d hinted she’d been driving too fast did she intend to keep up this hostile attitude towards him? Well, if so, that was fine by him, he thought almost angrily. He had far more important things on his mind than whether or not some silly little red-haired nurse was hell-bent on waging some ridiculous vendetta. He still thought she’d been driving too fast, especially when entering hospital grounds.
‘Thank you,’ he replied tersely. ‘Is Mrs Reece back in the ward yet?’
‘Yes—will you come and see her before you go?’
‘Of course,’ he replied. She turned to go and he noticed that her hair was caught up in a black velvet band. Earlier, when he’d first seen her in the car when she had all but flattened him, it had been loose—a wild, fiery cloud. He’d never been attracted to red-haired women—never known many, in fact. Most of the women he’d ever known had been dark, with black hair, olive complexions and dark eyes—just like Consuela…
‘I’ll be along shortly,’ he said, suddenly feeling he needed to say something else, ‘and I’ll see Mr Freeman as well. Has he come round yet?’
‘Yes, I believe so.’ She turned and glanced back at him, and he noticed that her eyes were green and her skin pale—creamy almost. ‘I believe sister wanted to talk to you about pain control.’
‘Very well.’ He nodded. ‘Thank you, Nurse.’
The door clicked shut behind her and with a sigh he turned back to the window. Should he have said something about earlier? She’d accused him of not looking where he’d been going—had that been true? Probably, he told himself reluctantly. No doubt once again he’d been deeply immersed in thoughts of Consuela and had been totally unaware of what had been going on around him. But that didn’t alter the fact that she had been driving too fast in the first place.
‘What was all that about on the ward this morning?’
Lara was nearing the end of her shift when Sue waylaid her. ‘All what?’ she asked with a little sigh, knowing full well what the sister was referring to.
‘All that between you and Mr Ricardo—about you nearly running him over. Was it true?’
‘Yes, actually, it was.’ Lara nodded. ‘Like I said at the time, he wasn’t looking where he was going.’
‘Well, maybe he wasn’t, but did you have to react quite so strongly, and on his first day at that?’ asked Sue.
‘He as good as accused me of speeding,’ Lara declared hotly.
‘And you weren’t?’ Sue raised one eyebrow.
‘Of course not,’ Lara retorted. ‘Well, I might have been,’ she added, catching Sue’s rather sceptical expression. ‘Just a little bit. But I still say he should have looked before stepping onto the road. Let’s face it, Sue, if I’d hit him and he’d been injured or, heaven forbid, killed, I would have got the blame.’
‘Yes, I don’t doubt that,’ said Sue, ‘but I just feel it was a shame that you got off to such a bad start with him. After all, he’s going to be around quite a bit if he’s taking Mr Sylvester’s place.’
‘Yes, I suppose…’ Lara shrugged.
‘And from what I’ve heard about him he’s good—very good. We were actually very lucky to get him.’
‘Yes, I don’t doubt it,’ Lara said. ‘All right, Sue,’ she added, when it appeared that the ward sister was waiting for her to say something further, ‘I’ll do my best to get on with him—for the sake of the unit.’
‘Right, Lara,’ Sue said briskly. ‘You know how much store I set by the smooth running of this place.’
‘Yes, Sue, I know you do.’ Lara glanced up as a tall figure came through the double doors onto the wards. ‘Uh-oh,’ she said, ‘speak of the devil…’
For a moment it seemed as if he knew they had been talking about him as he glanced from Sue to Lara then back to Sue again.
‘Mr Ricardo,’ said Sue, ‘can we help you? I thought you would have gone by now.’
‘I would like to take a look at the two skin-graft patients before I go,’ he said.
‘Oh, right, very well.’ Sue sounded surprised. It was unusual to say the least for the surgeon to come back onto the ward unless there had been any complications during surgery. ‘Lara…’ she half turned ‘…would you take Mr Ricardo onto the ward, please?’
Lara wanted to refuse, to say that her shift was all but over, that she was in a hurry, had Callum to pick up from school, but somehow, in the light of their recent conversation, she didn’t quite dare. ‘Of course,’ she heard herself murmur dutifully. ‘If you’d like to come with me, Mr Ricardo.’
Without a word he fell into step beside her and together they entered one of the ward’s four-bedded bays. Jennifer was recovering in the bed nearest the entrance, her face covered in dressings.
‘Hello, Mrs Reece—Jennifer.’ The surgeon went right up to her and leaned over the bed. ‘Are you comfortable?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, realising who her visitor was. ‘Yes, thank you, Mr Ricardo.’
‘No pain?’ he asked gently.
‘Not really. My leg actually feels more tender than my face, if I’m honest.’
‘It is very often the case,’ he replied, ‘that the donor site is more painful than the recipient site. But we can give you something for the pain…’ He half turned to Lara but Jennifer interrupted.
‘Oh, it’s all right,’ she said. ‘Sister gave me an injection about ten minutes ago—I’m just waiting for it to work.’
‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘Your operation went very well, Jennifer,’ he said in the same gentle tone. Lara presumed that his faint accent was Spanish—the language spoken in Argentina. ‘I was very satisfied with the graft and I hope you will be also,’ he went on. ‘I am also very optimistic that there will be minimum scarring of both your face and your thigh.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jennifer, and Lara saw tears well up in the eye that was not covered by the gauze dressings that masked the other side of her face. ‘Thank you so much. Mr Ricardo?’ she said, when he would have moved away.
‘Yes?’ He paused at the side of the bed and looked down at his patient.
‘I’m sorry I caused such a fuss earlier about who was to do my skin graft.’
‘Think no more of it,’ he said softly. ‘It was quite understandable that you should feel apprehensive. After all, you had never set eyes on me before in your life—how could you be expected to trust your face to me?’
Suddenly Lara felt her own emotions rise dangerously close to the surface. Was this apology time? Maybe she, too, should apologise for having nearly killed this man. Maybe, just maybe, she had been driving just a teeny bit faster than she should have been. On the other hand, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to get carried away by the emotional tide that was very often present at the bedside of a patient. And then, before she had the chance to think more on the subject, he had moved away from the bed and she was escorting him to another bay where they found that the second patient to receive a skin graft that day was sleeping.
‘Don’t disturb him,’ Mr Ricardo said quietly. ‘I shall be back here in a couple of days’ time—I’ll see him then.’
And then it was over. The surgeon returned to his consulting room after solemnly thanking Lara, and she came off her shift and hurried to the changing rooms to change out of her uniform and into her day clothes. An anxious glance at the clock told her that she would have to hurry if she was to be at the school in time to pick up Callum. Pulling the band from her hair, she thankfully shook it free then stepped out of her trousers and tunic and pulled on her sweater and jeans. Within moments she was out of the building and hurrying through the grounds to the car park.
It was still cold and very windy, and to make matters even worse it had started to rain. Lara didn’t mind wind—in fact, she quite liked a walk when it was windy, enjoying the feel of the wind on her face and through her hair. She didn’t really mind the rain either, providing it was of the soft and gentle variety. What she couldn’t abide was the wind and rain together just as it was now, when it came in great gusts, stinging the face and drenching her in a matter of minutes. Once in her car she gave a sigh of relief and slammed the door behind her then immediately started the engine and switched on the windscreen wipers.
Her journey through the hospital grounds to the main entrance was uneventful but as she turned onto the road she suddenly caught sight of a familiar figure. Hunched against the rain and battling the wind, dressed once again in the long, black overcoat and with one hand holding on to the black fedora, Andres Ricardo was striding along the pavement by the iron railings that formed the hospital boundary.
At least he’s on the pavement and not on the road, thought Lara as she passed him. No fear of running him down this time. She glanced in her rear-view mirror. He looked cold and, no doubt, quite soon in this rain he would be wet through as well. But she couldn’t stop—could she? She was in too much of a hurry. He’d be going to the station—she’d heard him telling Sue that he’d come down on the train. And the station was on her way to Callum’s school.
She indicated and pulled in to the side of the road. Within seconds he’d drawn alongside her. Leaning across, she wound down the window on the passenger side. ‘Are you going to the station?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he replied, his expression one of surprise.
‘Would you like a lift?’
‘That is most kind.’ Opening the car door, he somehow folded his tall frame into the passenger seat of her car, slammed the door and fastened his seat belt.
Almost with a sense of disbelief at what she had done, Lara signalled and drew away from the kerb.
