Soon!
‘Garth Warren was a good man—a close friend. We’d known each other for a long time, and I thought maybe it would be good for Patrick to have a male influence in his life.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t use the word father!’ Kal growled. ‘So what happened to this paragon?’
‘Garth? We parted within six months. It wasn’t fair to have married him in the first place because I didn’t love him, and as things went on I knew I never could. He’s remarried to a lovely woman and I’m godmother to their twins.’
‘How civilised you westerners are!’ The derisive retort was so unlike Kal, Nell wondered if she’d ever really known him. ‘Love or no love, if you were my wife, I’d have chained you in a cellar before I let you go.’
‘But you did let me go,’ Nell reminded him softly.
‘You were not my wife, though you would have been if you’d told me of my son.’
He stopped abruptly and turned to her again, his face now puzzled.
‘My son. His name is Patrick?’
Nell nodded, wondering if this, too, would make him angry, but all he said was, ‘Why?’
‘I remembered you telling me of the tutor you’d had, and how it had been his influence that had made you decide to study medicine.’ Nell shrugged. ‘He seemed to mean a lot to you…’
Kal stood up and left the room. He was forty years old, yet his emotions were as tumultuous as the most raw adolescent’s. This woman had thrown his life into total chaos.
First she’d fired his body to such an extent he’d behaved like the barbarian she probably believed him to be. Then she’d fired this rocket into the congealed mess that had once been his mind.
She’d called his son Patrick! Named him after the man who’d given Kal so much. His love of books—the inspiration to do medicine—the strength to break from family tradition by studying something apart from business—and the confidence to bargain with his father to make it possible.
His son was called Patrick.
He left the apartment, aware in the part of him that had always been true to the manners and decency and moral behaviour instilled in him that he had behaved very badly towards Nell. So what if the sex had been unbelievable?
He groaned to himself as he entered his apartment, and, pleased to be diverted from his thoughts, picked up the phone to retrieve the messages signalled by the red flashing light.
The Spanish team was definitely due to arrive the following morning. One of the burn victims in the ICU had died. Two of the less critical patients in other wards were being repatriated to their home countries and Lalla had organised nursing staff to travel with them. His mother would like him to phone her when he had time, and a Mrs Roberts had phoned from Australia.
Mrs Roberts? Nell’s mother?
Patrick! Something was wrong with the boy and Mrs Roberts didn’t want to tell Nell directly.
He dialled the number that had been left, not thinking for a minute of the time difference, though when a cheerful voice answered the phone he realised it would be morning in Australia.
‘Oh, Kal, I am so sorry to bother you, but I’ve been trying to phone Nell and can’t seem to make the receptionist at the hospital understand me. In the end I thought of you. Could you, please, ask her to phone me?’
‘Is it Patrick? Is he ill again? Should we come?’
There was an audible gasp, then Mrs Roberts said, ‘Oh, she’s told you already. I’m so glad. And so sorry, too, Kal, for the way things turned out. You, her, Patrick—but no, he’s fine. He’s staying over at a friend’s place for a couple of days—they’re studying together for a chemistry exam. But Don, Mr Roberts, he’s been on a waiting list for a kidney for a long time and they phoned last night to say there was one available. I wanted to let Nell know and to tell her I’d be in touch as soon as the op was done, and also that I’ve arranged for someone to look after Patrick because I’ll want to stay at the hospital as much as possible. My sister, Mary, is arriving this afternoon.’
Maybe it was the distance between them, but Mrs Roberts sounded remarkably calm for a woman whose husband was about to undergo major surgery and whose grandson was in remission from leukaemia.
‘Has Mr Roberts been seriously ill? Shouldn’t Nell be there? Won’t you want her support?’
‘I’d like nothing better,’ Mrs Roberts said, ‘but you don’t know Nell too well if you think she’d leave her patients to come home and hold my hand. She knows her dad has the best doctors available, and she knows how much he wanted this—to get off the dialysis—so she’ll be worried but she’ll be pleased as well. But I don’t want her to worry about Patrick.’
‘I’ll look after Nell, and Patrick, too,’ Kal heard himself say. ‘She probably hasn’t had time to tell you, but I’m thinking of bringing him over here. It seems like a good idea to get to know him while Nell’s working in the country.’
Kal knew this was toying with the truth, but found himself driven by something beyond rational thought or reasoning.
‘Oh, Kal, that’s wonderful. I’ve been so worried about him—about how he’ll handle seeing his grandfather when he comes home from hospital. Patrick has always thought that his grandfather is ten feet tall and bullet-proof. He understands about the operation, of course, and knows Don will need time to recover, but to see him weak—I’ve been worried about the effect that would have on Patrick.’
Mrs Roberts hesitated and though anger was racing through Kal once again—it should be he Patrick looked up to—he knew he had to sound calm and in control.
‘Then it will be good all round if he’s here,’ he said, and was congratulating himself on his composure when Mrs Roberts raised another doubt.
‘But what about his tests? Patrick’s blood tests and regular check-ups? His medication?’
‘Mrs Roberts, I’m a doctor, I live at the hospital, we have some of the best pathologists and oncologists in the world here. You can be very sure that Patrick will be well cared for. Now, let’s get the main things sorted out. When is Mr Roberts being admitted and where?’
‘We’re leaving in ten minutes for All Saints Private. Nell knows the number, but tell her not to keep phoning. I’ll be sure to contact her whenever there’s any news.’
Kal assured her once again that he’d look after Nell, then offered his private number and his mobile number.
‘If I can’t take the call, it will switch to a paged message so call me any time—day or night—and leave a number where I can call you back.’
Mrs Roberts said goodbye, and Kal hung up and stared out the window at the bright lights of the city, and beyond them the blackness that was the desert.
He’d done it! He’d made a commitment to see his son.
Not in a particularly honourable way!
Anyway, honourable or not, it was for the best, though, of course, Nell might not agree.
Nell. Over here, helping his people, working at his hospital, while at home her father was about to undergo major surgery. He felt the first stirrings of guilt. His conscience reminded him of his recent behaviour towards her. He even felt a pang of anxiety for her—a wish that he could spare her the pain and worry he knew this news would cause.
Would she be sleeping now?
If so, should he let her sleep? Tell her in the morning, by which time her father’s operation might be successfully completed?
Wouldn’t that be better than having her lying awake all night, worried and anxious, as she waited for her mother’s call?
Though her mother would call him first, not Nell. For some reason he hadn’t given Mrs Roberts Nell’s direct number. Was it so he could shield Nell if the news was bad? Tell her himself rather than have her hear it over a telephone?
Maybe some of the gentleness Kal had always believed made a man a better person remained, though he’d shown precious little gentleness to Nell earlier.
Still debating whether to tell Nell or not, he walked out of his apartment, his bunch of keys dangling fro
m his fingers. He knocked quietly on her door, a strange thought rising unbidden in his mind.
If she’s awake and I tell her and she’s upset, then the obvious thing to do would be to stay with her to comfort her through the long anxious hours. He could lie with her, hold her…
He refused to listen to whatever else might be suggested, but quietly unlocked the door, aware of his invasion of Nell’s space but needing to see her.
She was sleeping soundly, a sheet across her naked body, her shoulder-length dark hair splayed across the pillow, her lashes black on cheeks so pale he again felt a pang of guilt about what had transpired earlier.
He wouldn’t wake her, but he’d sleep close by, his phone set to vibrate rather than ring, so when the news came—and, please, God it would be good—he could tell her straight away.
That decision made, he should move. He knew he should. But the sight of the sleeping woman held him in thrall, and he stood and watched her breathe and thought of all he didn’t know about her—and of all the time they’d wasted.
Surprised by what seemed like regret, he searched around inside himself.
No, the anger hadn’t gone, and why should it? She’d been wrong not to tell him she was pregnant, but right now her family was in trouble and she was far from home. He backed away into the living room, where he swept all the shopping bags off the lounge and tried it for size. Pulling one of the cushions down for a pillow, he settled on the floor. He slept better in the desert with just the sand beneath him. Sleeping on the floor was no hardship.
It wasn’t exactly a snore, more just heavy breathing, loud enough for Nell, when she stirred in her sleep, to notice it.
The sound wasn’t close enough to bother her, but she slipped out of bed and was about to go and investigate when she became aware of her naked state. She really should have gone through the clothes Yasmeen had left—the ones in the living room, where the noise was.
She pulled off the top sheet to wrap around her body and tiptoed out. Moonlight lit the room, as it had her bedroom, but in its glow she could see nothing to explain the noise.
Maybe it was just the water pipes…
No, that was definitely a snore. Not a loud snore, more a kind of snort, but definitely a noise made in sleep.
She crept towards the couch, thinking maybe a very small person might be curled up on it, then she saw the figure on the floor.
Kal?
Why had he returned to her apartment?
And what was he doing, sleeping on the floor?
She couldn’t think of a logical explanation to either of the questions, but felt contrarily glad that he was here. Oh, he’d spoken harshly—acted harshly too—but she couldn’t believe the gentle man who’d lived inside the arrogant one she’d first met in Australia could have disappeared altogether.
She stared at him, bemused by the very different sides of Kal. It had been the arrogant man who’d made the loud noises about marriage.
But the gentle man was still there inside him. She’d seen him in action on the ward. Maybe it was only in personal relations that the arrogant man held sway.
She made her way quietly back to bed. She was too tired to consider what Kal might or might not be doing on her floor, or to work out how much or little he’d changed since she’d known him before.
It had been fourteen years after all. Didn’t everyone change with time?
Not Kal! her heart prayed, but her body burned with memories of their love-making and she was forced to admit that, yes, he’d changed. The old Kal had been a wild, exciting lover, demanding, yes, but always—well, lover-like. Tender in his whispered words, warmly loving and affectionate in the afterglow of love. Tonight’s Kal had been ruthlessly competent, bringing her an almost unendurable pleasure but remote from her—detached—so unemotional she’d felt his coldness sweep across her when he’d drawn away.
So why on earth was he sleeping on her floor?
Penance?
Kal?
Hardly!
Nell went back to bed. Against all common sense she was strangely comforted by the sound of his breathing and she slid quickly into a dreamless sleep.
Less comforting was his news next morning. He was in the kitchen when she came out—again wrapped in the sheet as she needed clean clothes from the parcels in the living room. Beyond him, through the windows, she could see the city, and as she grew closer she could see the parkland surrounding the hospital, gardeners way down below working on keeping it neat and trim.
Why was she thinking about parkland?
So she didn’t have to think about Kal being in her apartment?
Or about her reaction to his presence?
‘Nell.’ His voice was gentle as he stepped towards her, and her heart leapt. He was going to apologise for last night. They could start again. Try to bridge the gulf between them. ‘Your mother phoned last night.’
He was close enough to grab her as she whispered, ‘Patrick?’ Close enough to pull her to him and hold her as he explained.
‘Not Patrick, but your father. It’s all right. He’s OK. Your mother phoned to say they’d found a donor kidney for him and he was going straight in to have the operation. I didn’t wake you because she said she’d ring again as soon as it was over. I’ve just spoken to her—it went well, and he’s conscious.’
Nell pulled away and looked up at the man who’d given her this startling news.
‘Is that why you slept on the floor?’
Kal nodded, not able to explain the need to be near her.
‘Thank you,’ Nell said, so formally he knew he’d somehow made things worse, not better, between them. ‘I’ll phone home now—or phone the hospital. And I’ll have to ring Patrick, too. He’ll have been worried sick.’
‘He’s at a friend’s place and didn’t know until your mother rang to tell him it was successful. Someone called Mary is going to stay at the house with him so your mother can be at the hospital.’
Until I get there, Kal should have added, but he knew Nell would fight him on this. If she’d wanted Patrick to meet his father, she’d have brought him with her on this trip.
He told Nell the name of the hospital he’d written down and waited, but she turned away from him, heading straight for the phone. He could see her fingers trembling as she dialled the numbers, but he couldn’t find anything to say to comfort her.
You set the parameters of this relationship with your behaviour last night, the voice in his head reminded him, and he swore under his breath and left the room.
Chapter 4
Once satisfied all was well at home, and buoyed by news that the surgeons were delighted with her father’s progress, Nell ordered breakfast, then showered and dressed for work while she waited for it to be delivered.
Concern about her father’s continued recovery was keeping other thoughts at bay, and for that she was grateful. But when she entered the burns unit a little later, the first person she saw was Kal, and her body surged with remembered passion, while her heart fluttered with what couldn’t possibly be love. How could she still feel love for Kal after his behaviour last night?
You responded last night!
The accusation, silent though it was, reminded her, and remembering made her blush.
‘Where will we start?’ she said to Yasmeen, anxious to get her mind focussed totally on work. In the past—when Kal had left—she’d used work to blot out her emotions. Now, older and stronger, surely she could do the same.
‘With the patients who need surgery?’ Yasmeen suggested, and Nell followed her to the bed of the first of these, an airport worker who’d been one of the first onto the burning plane and who, in trying to rescue people, had been badly burned himself.
He had enough unburned skin to take some both for growing new and for grafting. Again, the good skin could be sliced into very fine layers to make it go further.
‘The worst burns are on his arms.’ Kal had been at the patient’s bedside and now he moved a little away to point t
his out to her.
‘Which means if we excise the injured tissue right down to the fascia, taking off the underlying fat, we’ll get good blood supply to the graft so a better chance of it taking, but he’ll be left with bad disfigurement as the fat layers never grow back and his arms will look so thin they’ll be stick-like.’
She looked at Kal.
‘Will that matter to him, do you think?’
‘He’s a young man and good-looking. I think it might,’ Yasmeen said, her voice tentative, giving Nell the impression she was shy in Kal’s presence—or unused to working closely with him.
‘Yasmeen’s right,’ Kal said, smiling gently at the other doctor, as if he, too, had sensed her diffidence. ‘We are a proud people, and perhaps too conscious of our looks. Do you think the risk of performing a shallower, tangential excision and grafting onto the superficial fat is too big to take?’
Nell thought about it for a moment, her gaze straying back to the patient in the bed. He was a good-looking young man.
‘OK, here are the facts. We’ll get more blood loss with the tangential, so we have to be sure he’s strong enough to cope with that. We also need to have extra blood on standby in Theatre. And if the graft doesn’t take, we’ll have to try again, and each time we lose a graft and have to try another one, the wound gets bigger. But I’m happy for you to go that way if you both believe it’s in his best interests long term.’
Kal nodded then looked at Yasmeen again.
‘Let’s ask him,’ Yasmeen suggested, and she turned to the very ill young man lying in the bed. She spoke briskly in the fluid-sounding language, and though Nell had found a tutor to teach Patrick Arabic from the time he’d been a young child, she understood very few of the words herself.
‘Least scarring,’ Yasmeen confirmed. ‘I’ll stay here and do the paperwork to get him to Theatre. The patient in bed six is the one you should see next.’
‘You’re sure you’re all right to be working?’ Kal asked as he accompanied Nell to the next patient.
‘Better working than brooding,’ Nell assured him. ‘At least here my mind is fully occupied with patients and I don’t have time to worry about Dad.’
Sheikh Surgeon Page 6
