Healing the Sheikh's Heart

by Annie O'Neil

  He might have returned to work at Paddington’s but the Thomas Wolfe that Rebecca had known and loved hadn’t come back.

  Oh, he still looked the same. Still lean and fit and so tall that the top of her head would only reach his shoulder. He still had those eyes that had fascinated her right from the start because they could change colour depending on his mood. Blue when he was happy and grey when he was angry or worried or sad.

  They had been the colour of a slate roof on a rainy day that first time they had seen each other again after so long and she hadn’t noticed any difference since. He was as aloof with her as he was with his patients and their families.

  She’d known it wasn’t going to be easy. She’d known that some cases were going to be a lot harder than others but, when she’d heard that he’d agreed to come back and work at Paddington’s, Rebecca had believed that she could cope. She’d wondered if they could, in fact, put some of the past behind them and salvage some kind of friendship, even.

  That hope had been extinguished the first time their paths had crossed when nothing had been said. When there had been no more warmth in his gaze than if she’d been any other colleague he’d previously worked with.

  Less warmth, probably.

  The old Thomas had never been like that. He’d had an easy grin that was an invitation for colleagues to stop and chat for a moment or two. He would joke and play with the children in his care and he’d always had a knack for connecting with parents—especially after he’d become a father himself. They loved him because he could make them feel as if they had the best person possible fighting in their corner. Someone who understood exactly how hard it was and would care for their child as if it were his own.

  This version of Thomas might have the same—or likely an improved—ability to deliver the best medical care but he was a shell of the man he had once been.

  Part of Rebecca’s heart was breaking for a man who’d taught himself to disconnect so effectively from the people around him but, right now, an even bigger part was angry. Maybe it had been building with every encounter they’d had over the last few months when they had discussed the care of their patients with a professional respect that bordered on coldness.

  Calling each other ‘Thomas’ and ‘Rebecca’ with never a single slip into the ‘Tom’ and ‘Becca’ they had always been to each other. Discussing test results and medications and surgery as if nobody involved had a personal life or people that loved them enough to be terrified.

  It was bad enough that he’d destroyed their marriage by withdrawing into this cold, hard shell but she could deal with that. She’d had years of practice, after all. To see the effect it was having on others made it far less acceptable. This was Penny’s mother he’d been talking to, for heaven’s sake. They’d both known Julia since she’d been pregnant with her first—and only—child. They’d both been there for her a thousand per cent over the first weeks and months of her daughter’s life. He’d been the old Thomas, then.

  And then he’d walked out. He hadn’t been there for the next lot of surgery Penny had had. He hadn’t shared the joy of appointments over the next few years that had demonstrated how well the little girl had been and how happy and hopeful her family was. He hadn’t been there to witness the fear returning as her condition had deteriorated again but now he was back on centre stage and he was acting as if Penelope Craig was just another patient. As if he had no personal connection at all...

  How could he be walking away from Julia like that, when she was so upset she had buried her face in a handful of tissues, ducking back into the relatives’ room for some privacy?

  Rebecca’s forward movement came to a halt as Thomas came closer. She knew she was glaring at him but, for once, she wasn’t going to hide anything personal behind a calm, professional mask.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, her tone rather more crisp than she had expected. ‘Why is Julia so upset?’

  Thomas shifted his gaze, obviously checking that nobody was within earshot. A group of both staff and visitors were waiting for an elevator. Kitchen staff went past, pushing a huge stainless steel trolley. An orderly pushing a bed came towards them, heading for the service lift, presumably taking the small patient for an X-ray or scan. The bed had balloons tied to the end, one of them a bright yellow smiley face. A nurse walked beside the bed, chatting to the patient’s mother. She saw Rebecca and smiled. Then her gaze shifted to Thomas and the smile faded a little.

  He didn’t seem to notice. He tilted his head towards the group of comfortable chairs near the windows that were, remarkably, free of anyone needing a break or waiting to meet someone. Far enough away from the elevator doors to allow for a private conversation.

  Fair enough. It would be unprofessional to discuss details of a case where it could be overheard. Rebecca followed his lead but didn’t sit down on one of the chairs. Neither did Thomas.

  ‘I was going to send you a memo,’ he said. ‘I’m meeting both Julia and Peter in the next day or two to discuss the option of Penelope receiving a ventricular assist device. It’s only a matter of time before her heart failure becomes unmanageable.’

  ‘Okay...’ Rebecca caught her bottom lip between her teeth. No wonder Julia had been upset. A VAD was a major intervention. But she trusted Thomas’s judgement and it would definitely buy them some time.

  His gaze touched hers for just a heartbeat as he finished speaking but Rebecca found herself staring at his face, waiting for him to look at her again. Surely he could understand the effect of what he’d told Julia? How could he have walked away from her like that and left her alone?

  But Thomas seemed to be scanning the view of central London that these big, multi-paned old windows provided. He could probably see the busy main roads with their red, double-decker buses and crowds of people waiting at intersections or trying to hail a black cab. Or maybe his eye had been drawn to the glimpse of greenery in the near distance from the treetops of Regent’s Park.

  ‘You’ve had experience with VADs? Are you happy to do the surgery?’

  ‘Yes, of course. It’s not a procedure that happens very often but I’ve been involved with a couple. Do you want me to come to the meeting with Penny’s family and discuss it with them?’

  ‘Let’s wait until it’s absolutely necessary. I can tell them what’s involved and why it’s a good option.’

  Rebecca let her gaze shift to the windows, as well. She stepped closer, in fact, and looked down. The protesters were still in place, with their placards, outside the gates. They’d been there for months now, ever since the threat of closure had been made public. It hadn’t just been the staff who had been so horrified that the land value of this prime central London spot was so high that the board of governors was actually considering selling up and merging Paddington Children’s Hospital with another hospital, Riverside, that was outside the city limits.

  Thanks to the incredible donation a month or so ago from Sheikh Idris Al Khalil, who’d brought his daughter to Paddington’s for treatment, the threat of closure was rapidly retreating. The astonishing amount of money in appreciation of such a successful result for one child had sparked off an influx of new donations and the press were onside with every member of staff, every patient and every family who were so determined that they would stay here. Even so, the protesters were not going to let the momentum of their campaign slow down until success was confirmed. The slogans on their placards were as familiar as the street names around here now.

  Save Our Hospital

  Kids’ Health Not Wealth

  The knowledge that that announcement couldn’t be far off gave Rebecca a jolt of pleasure. Things were looking up. For Paddington’s and maybe for Penny, too.

  ‘It is a good option.’ She nodded. ‘I’d love to see her out of that wheelchair for a while.’

  ‘It would put her at the top of the waiting li
st for a new heart, too. Hopefully a donor heart will become available well before we run into any complications.’

  The wave of feeling positive ebbed, leaving Rebecca feeling a kind of chill run down her spine. Her muscles tensed in response. Her head told her that she should murmur agreement and then excuse herself to go and see her patient, maybe adding a polite request to be kept informed of any developments.

  Her heart was sending a very different message. An almost desperate cry asking where the hell had the man gone that Thomas used to be? Was there even a fragment of him left inside that shell?

  ‘Yes,’ she heard herself saying, her voice weirdly low and fierce. ‘Let’s keep our fingers crossed that some kid somewhere, who’s about the same age as Penny, has a terrible accident and their parents actually agree to have him—or her—used for spare parts.’

  She could feel the shock wave coming from Thomas. She was shocked herself.

  It was a pretty unprofessional thing for a transplant surgeon to say but this had come from a very personal place. A place that only a parent who had had to make that heartbreaking decision themselves could understand.

  She was also breaking the unspoken rule that nothing personal existed between herself and Thomas any more. And she wasn’t doing it by a casually friendly comment like ‘How are you?’ or ‘Did you have a good weekend?’ No. She was lobbing a verbal grenade into the bunker that contained their most private and painful history.

  In public. During working hours.

  What was she thinking? Being angry at the distance Thomas was keeping himself from his patients and their parents was no excuse. Especially when she knew perfectly well why he had become like that. Or was that the real issue here? That she had known and tried so hard to help and had failed so completely?

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘But, for me, it’s never an anonymous donor organ that becomes available. I have to go and collect them so I get involved in both sides of the story.’

  Thomas’s voice was like ice. He really didn’t want to be talking about this.

  ‘You choose to do it,’ he said.

  He didn’t even look at her as he fired the accusation. He was staring out of the damned window again. Rebecca found that her anger hadn’t been erased by feeling ashamed of her outburst.

  ‘And you choose to shut your eyes.’ The words came out in a whisper that was almost a hiss. ‘To run away. Like you always did.’

  There was no point in saying anything else. Maybe there was nothing more to say, anyway.

  So Rebecca turned and walked away.

  Copyright © 2017 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  ISBN-13: 9781488020520

  Healing the Sheikh’s Heart

  Copyright © 2017 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Annie O’Neil for her contribution to the Paddington Children’s Hospital series.

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