Sheikh Surgeon

by Meredith Webber

  ‘He’s a fine boy,’ he said, coming back towards Nell, his eyes and the gravity in his voice making the words even stronger praise. ‘You’ve done a wonderful job with him. I’d like—’

  ‘I don’t want your compliments on Patrick’s upbringing,’ Nell snorted, although she’d gone just a little teary to hear Kal say those words. ‘I want an explanation for your behaviour, and I want to know what you intend doing now you’ve disrupted Patrick’s life like this.’

  Kal stiffened, drawing himself up to his full height and looking down at her with hard, unyielding eyes.

  ‘I intend to get to know my son, and then, when I judge he will be easy with them, I intend to introduce him to my family.’

  ‘Introduce him to your family?’ Nell knew her words were faint, but so was she. ‘You’d introduce him? Acknowledge him?’

  ‘He is my son!’ Kal said, his voice as cold as wind off snow. ‘They are his family. Of course he should know them.’

  Nell felt for the chair she knew was somewhere behind her, pulled it out from the table and sat down with a bump.

  This is what you want, she reminded herself. OK, it hasn’t happened as you planned, but if they meet Patrick surely they’ll all be willing to be tested as possible bone-marrow donors.

  But if they meet Patrick…

  Her mind tried to grasp the ramifications—to work out where this family reunion might lead. Surely Kal couldn’t think Patrick could stay on in this country. It had been all very well for Kal to have talked of conditions—and even, ridiculously, of marriage—but Nell’s life was back in Australia, and Patrick’s place was with her.

  Her heart scrunched with momentary panic.

  Wasn’t it?

  Chapter 6

  ‘What would you like? A cup of tea? Coffee? Have you had anything at all to eat? Don’t you know about looking after yourself?’

  Kal’s voice was brusque, but as Nell shook her head in answer to any or all of his questions, she was relieved he thought her sudden subsidence into the chair was to do with hunger or over-tiredness.

  Although now, with Patrick gone, she should be talking to him about this family idea he’d suddenly dumped on her.

  He beat her to it, but with talk of her family, not his.

  ‘I saw your father. I took Patrick to the hospital before we left. He—your father—looked remarkably well and the doctors are apparently delighted with his recovery.’

  Pleased by this diversion, Nell looked up at the man looming over her.

  ‘And Mum? How’s she holding up?’

  Kal smiled—the warm, genuine, lighting-up-his-

  face smile that had always made Nell’s heart race.

  And still did.

  ‘She’s exactly as she always was. A spaceship could land in her back yard and as the little yellow and purple spotted aliens poured out, she’d greet them with a smile and offer tea or coffee. She’s sitting up there by your father, knitting brightly coloured scarves, and has a large bag of wool so the nurses can choose what colour scarf they’d like her to knit them. Needless to say, she has them eating out her hand and they can’t do enough for your father.’

  Nell had to smile. Yes, that was her mum!

  And though she’d cut out her tongue rather than admit it, Nell knew that not having to worry about Patrick with his meals and tests and doctors’ appointments would ease the strain on her mother right through her father’s convalescence.

  ‘So, with your family all tidied away, that leaves us,’ Kal said.

  ‘There is no us,’ Nell reminded him. ‘There’s you, there’s me and there’s Patrick. And now you’ve finessed him here, you can get to know him, but you’d better be able to take some time off work to keep him entertained, because I’m not only here to do a job, I’m needed in the burns unit. I can’t just walk away from that to show Patrick around.’

  She paused, realising something she hadn’t considered before.

  ‘Even if I knew where around was! I came from the airport to here, and that’s it.’

  ‘I’ll show you both around,’ Kal said. ‘Now the Spanish team is here, it will be easier for you to get away.’

  ‘The Spanish team is surgical,’ Nell reminded him. ‘They’re taking the jobs you and other surgeons were doing, not working on the ward. It could be weeks before things stabilise enough in the unit for anyone to take time off.’

  ‘Everyone needs time off,’ Kal argued.

  ‘That’s not what I’ve heard about you,’ Nell shot back at him, knowing this argument about work wasn’t the issue. Patrick was the issue. She took a deep breath and tackled it.

  ‘I mean it, Kal. You’ll have to take time off to be with him. You can’t bring him over here then just dump him in my apartment and go back to work. He needs company, and he’ll want to see the city and the surrounding country. And don’t think you can ask one of your minions to do it and palm off your responsibility that way. No, you brought him over here, it’s up to you to look after him.’

  But having taken this stand, Nell realised just how dangerous it was. Thrown into his father’s company for any length of time, Patrick, at a vulnerable age, couldn’t help but be impressed. Nell knew, none better, the magnetic charm Kal could weave so effortlessly. He’d cast a spell and Patrick would be caught in it.

  ‘That’s ridiculous, and so’s your attitude to work.’ Kal’s remonstrance interrupted her thoughts. ‘You should be seeing the country also. You can work in the mornings and in the afternoons we will all go out.’

  All go out?

  Like a family?

  She erupted into protest.

  ‘Just like that! You’re going to organise my life now, as well as Patrick’s! Well, thanks but, no, thanks. While I’m needed on that ward, I’ll stay there.’

  ‘You forget it is my hospital, Nell,’ he said, with cold, implacable logic. ‘I can forbid you working at all!’

  ‘You’d do that? Put those patients’ lives at risk? Just to get your own way? Or is it to pay me back for not telling you about Patrick? Is this spite, Kal? I’d have thought you’d be above that!’

  Silence greeted her outburst. A silence that went on for so long she was forced to look up at him.

  He looked puzzled, an expression she wouldn’t have associated with Kal, and as his eyes searched her face, she felt her antagonism dying away, killed by what seemed like genuine regret in his expression.

  ‘Nell, do we have to argue? Shouldn’t we be rejoicing in our son? I—All the way back on the flight all I could think of was seeing you again—seeing you to tell you how grateful I am for the way you’ve brought him up and how proud I am of that fine boy. But here we are, throwing harsh words at each other. Is there no middle ground where we can meet? No amnesty possible, for the boy’s sake if for nothing else?’

  Nell stared at him. Of course there should be an amnesty—or something—but if she showed weakness in front of Kal he’d ride straight over the top of her, moving in on her son—on her life—taking over both their lives as if it was his right.

  ‘I’m too tired to talk about this now,’ she said, knowing it was a coward’s way out, but in part it was true, for exhaustion was weakening her defences and for a moment the thought of having someone take over her life—and the responsibility for Patrick—had seemed exceedingly appealing.

  ‘Food for a starving mother!’

  Patrick came through the still open door with a tray of food, but he wasn’t alone. A sweet-faced young woman followed him, another tray in her hands.

  ‘I explained I couldn’t carry enough for three people—for me and Mum and you, Kal,’ Patrick said, putting down his tray then turning to take the second one from the woman, thanking her in English then Arabic. She bobbed her head towards him then departed. ‘So the man in charge of the counter down there sent the woman with me.’

  He turned towards his father.

  ‘My Arabic must be OK because they seemed to understand me, although they went right off the pl
anet when I said I was your son. Are you a big cheese in this hospital, Kal?’

  Nell hid a smile as she looked at the ‘big cheese’, wondering just how he’d explain his position, both in the hospital and in this country, to Patrick.

  ‘I’m the hospital boss,’ he said, and Patrick nodded.

  ‘I thought it must be that,’ he said easily, lifting dishes off the trays and setting them in the middle of the dining table. ‘Plates, Mum?’

  Nell looked around, taking a moment to work out what Patrick was talking about.

  ‘Somewhere in those kitchen cabinets, I guess,’ she said, waving her hand towards the cupboards. ‘I’ve only been eating breakfast here and that’s sent up from downstairs. All my other meals I’ve had on the ward.’

  Kal knew from his own apartment exactly where the plates would be, and he turned to find them and get cutlery for the three of them, the small task masking his annoyance at himself that Nell had taken on so much virtually since her arrival in this country and he’d done nothing to stop her.

  They’d needed her in the burns unit—that was undeniable—but surely he should have seen she was working herself into exhaustion.

  He put the plates on the table then took one up in his hand, serving a little from each of the dishes onto it, then placing it in front of Nell.

  ‘Have something to eat then go to bed,’ he said, trying hard not to make it sound like an order. ‘Your mother’s been up all night with a patient,’ he explained to Patrick. ‘So after we’ve eaten, I’ll take you for a drive around the city so you can get your bearings.’

  He hesitated, eyeing Nell, waiting for a comment. But her head was bent above the plate he’d given her, and all her attention seemed to be on scooping food onto her fork.

  ‘Once you get to know your way around, you can do some exploring on your own. I’d like to show you all I can, but there’ll be times when I’ll be working.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Patrick said easily. ‘Mum’s always encouraged me to do things on my own, though I would like to learn more Arabic. I can get by with speaking it fairly well but I’m not so good at reading and writing it.’

  ‘I’ll find someone to teach you,’ Kal said, then he hesitated again, worrying about the boy this time, not Nell. ‘That’s if you really want to be doing lessons when you’re supposed to be on holidays.’

  ‘I don’t mind that,’ Patrick assured him. ‘It’d give me something to do while you and Mum work.’

  Nell lifted her head and threw Kal a look that would have shrivelled grass, but Kal knew she couldn’t argue and drove home that point, saying easily to Patrick, ‘Well, if you’re sure that’s what you want.’

  Conversation then turned to the food, Patrick keen to learn what each dish was called so he knew what to order in future.

  Was I so self-confident at his age? Nell wondered, then shook her head. Of course she hadn’t been. When she’d been Patrick’s age she’d been a mess, embarrassed in adult company, squirming in discomfort with boys, and only secure and confident when surrounded by her girl friends.

  Patrick’s illness had matured him—she knew that—but seeing him with Kal, the two so alike in manner as well as looks, she wondered if confidence was a genetic thing. She couldn’t imagine Kal had ever been a tongue-tied adolescent or known a moment’s embarrassment in his life.

  ‘So tell me about your medical tests. What do you have done and how often?’

  Nell watched as Patrick turned towards his father, calmly outlining his medication and the regular blood tests he had to have.

  ‘They look for low blood cell counts with the blood tests but I have to watch for other things. Do you know it’s T-cell ALL? We found the cancer when I hurt my ribs playing soccer and had a chest X-ray. It showed a shadow in the space between the lungs and they found it was an en-larged…What do you call it, Mum?’

  ‘Thymus. That’s where the T-cells are made. You had an enlargement there and in the lymph nodes.’

  ‘Thymus, that’s it.’ He patted his chest. ‘It’s in here, in some bit they call the media—something, but of course you’d know that. But with T-cell, other lumps and bumps can grow. It’s like…’

  He stopped again and looked at Nell.

  ‘Lymphoma,’ she offered, not interrupting because it pleased her that Patrick had taken the trouble to find out so much about his illness.

  ‘Lymphoma. More like that than leukaemia, in fact. With the first relapse we found a lump in my neck, which was good because it meant we saw it almost straight away. We hadn’t been expecting it because the first lot of treatment—you know how they hit you hard with the drugs at first—’

  ‘Remission induction,’ Kal put in, and Patrick nodded.

  ‘Then remission consolidation, then maintenance. Well, in the first stage my white cell count dropped very fast, which is usually good news for a cure first time round, but then we found the lump straight after the consolidation and we had to do stage one again. So now I look for lumps and bumps or swellings anywhere and everywhere, including in embarrassing places, as well as having the blood tests every week.’

  Kal was frowning and Nell wondered if he was again thinking he should have been there for his son, although personally she’d have given anything not to have had to go through that dreadful time again.

  ‘How did you manage when they found he’d relapsed?’ he asked her a little later when Patrick had returned to the canteen for sweets.

  ‘I was thinking about that just then,’ she admitted. ‘Most people ask how I felt when Patrick was first diagnosed, but there’s so much to do, so many specialists to see, all the different drugs and the effects they’ll have on his body to learn about and then to explain it all to him. So I was too busy to think of anything but getting him treated and keeping him positive, but the second time…’

  She couldn’t speak as the remembered horror of that news flooded over her.

  ‘That’s why I had to come,’ she said at last. ‘I had to know there was some hope ahead of us should that dreadful day ever come again.’

  Then, without looking at Kal, she stood up, pushing her chair back with her legs, holding onto the table as if she were eighty years old.

  ‘I need to sleep,’ she said, and turned away.

  Then Kal was there, his arm around her, supporting her, offering comfort she didn’t want to accept.

  ‘I’ll take care of him,’ Kal said, his voice gruff but not with anger this time.

  Nell nodded, though she had no idea whether he was talking about the bone-marrow test or looking after Patrick that afternoon while she slept.

  And right now she wasn’t sure she cared, until Kal kissed her on the top of her head, then turned her in his arms so she was held in his embrace.

  This time the kiss wouldn’t be on the top of her head. She knew that but she couldn’t move away.

  ‘Sex in the afternoon? Come on, guys!’

  Patrick’s comment spun them apart and though Kal’s face was thunderous as he turned towards his son, Nell touched his arm.

  ‘Teenage humour,’ she said quietly, though to Patrick she said, ‘You watch your mouth, young man!’ Then she headed for the bedroom, too tired to be bothered what happened between the two of them.

  She woke four hours later. It was dark outside and the silence in the apartment told her she was on her own. She turned on the bedside light and noticed for the first time that someone had been in and unpacked the parcels Yasmeen had brought to the apartment—how long ago?

  She rubbed her face with her hands, unable to work out quite how long she’d been here—wondering if perhaps this was jet-lag.

  Whatever! She could see toiletries on the dressing-table, and through the partially opened wardrobe doors noticed clothes hanging neatly.

  But the light also revealed a note on the bedside table and she picked it up.

  ‘We’re in my apartment, thinking in terms of dinner at about eight. If you wake up, come and join us, otherwise make sure you
get something sent up for yourself.’

  It was signed ‘Kal’, although she’d have known his strong, upright writing anywhere.

  Had he brought it in himself and put it there? Had he wanted to look at her as she slept, as she’d looked at him the other night? Or was that just wishful thinking, prompted by the hope that their love-making might have meant something more to him than sex and a display of his dominance over her?

  She laughed at her fantasies and got out of bed. It was seven-thirty and she’d already missed hours of Patrick’s company. She had no intention of missing more of it, even if it meant putting up with Kal’s company as well. She opened the wardrobe, wondering exactly what Yasmeen might have purchased for her that would fit into the ‘going out for dinner’ category.

  Nell was confident that whatever Yasmeen had chosen wouldn’t offend the sensibilities or go against the dress code of the local people, but in her heart she hoped the clothes wouldn’t be too sensible. Fool that she was, she’d like to look good in front of Kal.

  Look good? What she’d really like would be to wear something that would knock his socks off, which was about as likely as all the burns patients miraculously getting better that day.

  She ran her fingers past the dark shirts and neat slacks, then over long, all-encompassing garments in black and navy, finally coming to a dress in midnight blue. It had sleeves, and looked long enough to cover her down to her ankles, but it seemed to have some shape about it and she knew the colour suited her.

  She pulled it out and threw it on the bed, then searched the drawers for underwear that might be more inspiring than the neat cotton bras and panties she’d already unpacked and worn.

  Nothing to start a red-blooded male’s heart racing, not that any red-blooded male—or one in particular—would be seeing her underwear, but there was one set in black. It would look better under the blue than the white she’d been wearing.

  She showered, washed her hair and blow-dried it, pleased that it behaved for once and sat down neatly around her head. She’d had moisturiser and some makeup in her handbag which she’d miraculously managed to keep hold of during the emergency, and for the first time since her arrival in Kal’s country, she used eye-liner and mascara—understated but enough to make her eyes look bigger—then added lipstick in an effort to make her face looked less tired.