The Latin Surgeon

by Laura MacDonald

  ‘And what if you don’t do that?’

  ‘There will be extensive scarring,’ Andres replied quietly.

  ‘Oh, God.’ The man sank down onto a chair and held his head in his hands. ‘I can’t take all this in.’

  Lara stepped forward and touched his shoulder lightly. ‘Is there someone we could call for you?’ she said gently. ‘A relative or perhaps a friend who could be with you at this time?’

  Mr Taylor looked up and through the mists of his confusion there appeared a slight glimmer, as he understood what Lara was saying. ‘My daughter,’ he said at last. ‘She should know about this.’

  ‘Does she live close by?’ asked Lara.

  ‘Yes. Well, about half an hour away by car.’

  ‘In that case, I suggest you phone her, or if you like we could phone her. I’m sure she would want to be here with her mother.’

  ‘Yes, all right.’ The man stood up, ‘I’ll phone her,’ he muttered.

  ‘Come into my office,’ said Sue. ‘You can phone from there.’

  Together Sue and Mr Taylor left the bay for Sue’s office, leaving Lara, Katie and Andres at Mary’s bedside.

  ‘I have to go,’ said Andres after a moment. ‘That is, if you don’t need me here any longer.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’ It was Katie who answered, a suddenly very alert Katie who seemed to be watching for any interaction between Lara and Andres.

  ‘I need to get back to London,’ he went on, apparently mercifully oblivious to Katie’s heightened interest. ‘I have a clinic this afternoon.’ He paused and his gaze met Lara’s. ‘I’ll see you in a couple of days’ time, Lara.’

  ‘Yes.’ She swallowed. A couple of days’ time was the next time she had a shift at the Roseberry. It was also the fourteenth of February—the date of the dinner party and St Valentine’s Day. ‘Yes, of course.’

  He’d barely left the bay when Katie gave a snort of laughter. ‘You’re trying to tell me there’s nothing in it?’ She chortled. ‘That him taking you to this party is purely and simply to shut his friends up?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lara began indignantly, but Katie cut her short.

  ‘Rubbish,’ she said. ‘Pull the other one. Honestly, Lara, do you think I was born yesterday?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Lara almost primly, but deep down her heart was doing incredible gymnastics at the look that had been in Andres’s eyes when he’d looked at her.

  ‘Yes, you do,’ said Katie. ‘And if you don’t, you should have been standing where I was. Honestly, Lara, the way he looked at you…’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Lara protested. ‘I told you this party is an arrangement, nothing more than that.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Katie. ‘Believe that and you’ll believe anything. I’d love to be a fly on the wall or failing that…’ she chuckled ‘…I’d dearly love to be around when our Reverend Sister finds out about it.’

  ‘Don’t.’ Lara shuddered. ‘I’m hoping she never will.’

  ‘I shouldn’t count on it,’ Katie replied, ‘I have a strong feeling that pretty soon everyone will know about you and Andres Ricardo, and that includes Sue Jackman.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT HAD been a busy shift at the Roseberry, with a full operating list and post-operative care, but in spite of that Lara had found it difficult to concentrate with the prospect of that evening’s dinner party crowding her mind at every opportunity. At last, however, the shift was over and Andres met her in Reception, where he had arranged for a cab to pick them up and take them to his home.

  Her heart was thumping with excitement as she sat beside him in the back of the cab, and as they drew out into the London traffic she had to remind herself more than once that this was purely an arrangement and she would do well to put any of the notions that either Cassie or Katie might have had firmly out of her mind. The traffic was heavy and it took almost half an hour to reach Andres’s home in Knightsbridge, but at last the cab entered the secluded square and drew to a halt before a tall, imposing building of red brick. Andres helped her from the cab, paid the driver then picked up her bag, while Lara carried the plastic cover that contained her dress and followed him up the short flight of steps to the front door.

  In the large hallway, with its black and white tiled floor, she waited while Andres de-activated the alarm system.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to come up to a room where you can change?’ he said.

  She followed him up a wide staircase with black and gilt wrought-iron banisters to a gallery overlooking the stairs and the hall below. Above them two crystal chandeliers glittered as brightly as polished diamonds, while beneath them their feet sank into the soft pile of a carpet of Chinese design.

  Andres had been mostly silent on the drive from the Roseberry and Lara had found herself wondering more than once if he was regretting arranging the rather odd circumstances for this evening. She had begun to wonder about it herself, for while she had accepted his reasons for asking her at the time, she had since found herself wondering what would happen afterwards. Even if his friends did accept the fact that he had someone in his life again, they would surely realise the truth when she was no longer in evidence. Or maybe his sole purpose was simply to let these friends know that he was perfectly capable of arranging his own affairs in the future.

  The room he showed her into was beautifully furnished in rich dark wood, its décor in shades of cream and lemon in perfect contrast, and with its own en suite bathroom. It overlooked a walled garden at the rear of the house.

  ‘This is lovely,’ she said, gazing out of the window.

  ‘I’ll leave you to get ready,’ he said. ‘If there is anything else you need, I’ll be downstairs.’

  After he had gone she unpacked the few items she’d brought with her—toiletries and make-up, her evening shoes and bag and the aquamarine pashmina her father had given her for her birthday a couple of years previously and which she knew suited her colouring but which she’d had little occasion to wear. She took a leisurely, scented bath and washed her hair, then while it was drying she applied her make-up—a little more than she usually wore—accentuating her eyes with misty grey and her lashes with mascara, highlighting her cheekbones with soft blusher and her lips with matching colour. With silk underwear and sheer stockings, she was at last ready to step into the black dress, drawing it up over her body and onto her shoulders, the sensuous folds of the material caressing her skin.

  Her hair she left loose, allowing it to dry into its natural fiery mass of curls and tendrils. Her only jewellery was a drop diamanté pendant on a gold chain, matching earrings and a slim gold bracelet, which she slipped onto her wrist before spraying herself with the light floral perfume she always wore. As she carried out these tasks she found herself wondering about Consuela and whether she had stood in this very room, getting ready to go out with her husband. Her death had been tragic at such a young age and ever since Andres had told her about his wife, Lara had often thought about the beautiful Argentinean woman he had loved and lost.

  With her own fair complexion, green eyes and auburn curls, Lara knew she was the very opposite in appearance to Consuela and she could well imagine the comment and speculation this would cause among his friends. As she gazed at her reflection in a full-length mirror she knew not only the apprehension she’d felt about that evening since the moment Andres had asked her but a moment of pure panic.

  What if they didn’t like her—thought her wholly unsuitable for Andres both in her appearance and her background? But if they did—did it matter? Did any of it matter? This whole thing was merely a charade, a pretence that she was required to keep up simply for that one evening. Surely she could manage that? Her reflection stared solemnly back at her. Of course she could—it was the least she could do for Andres, whose actions had all but resolved her financial predicament. Straightening her shoulders, she took a deep breath and, fastening a smile on her face, left the room and slowly descended the staircase.

>   Andres was standing below in the hallway, and for a brief moment before he knew she was there she was able to observe him. She had always thought he cut an imposing figure, whether at work in his white coat or theatre greens or outdoors in the long overcoat and black fedora in which he had first attracted her attention. But now, at the sight of him in evening dress, he looked so arrestingly handsome that her breath caught in her throat. Something must have told him she was there for at that moment he looked up, and as their eyes met briefly she paused, one hand on the banisters. His gaze travelled over her, taking in every detail, from Cassie’s little black dress to the wild cloud of her hair, the pashmina she carried over her arm and her high-heeled evening shoes with their jewelled straps. If Lara had had doubts about her appearance, they were dispelled in that instant for the look in Andres’s eyes was one of pure admiration, further borne out by his words. ‘You look lovely, Lara,’ he said simply.

  She joined him in the hallway and he led the way into a room which, with its antique furniture and comfortable sofas, was clearly the drawing room. On a low coffee-table in front of the elegant fireplace stood a silver tray with two glasses and an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne.

  ‘I thought,’ he said, ‘a drink before we go might help to set the tone for the evening. What do you think?’

  ‘A lovely idea,’ murmured Lara, who with every passing moment was becoming more and more convinced that she had stepped into another world—from the elegant town house in the quiet, tree-lined square in Knightsbridge, with its antiques and treasures, to drinking the most expensive champagne before embarking on an evening out, all of which could not be further removed from her own life in the tiny terraced house in Byfield.

  ‘This…this is a beautiful house,’ she said, as she watched him pour the champagne.

  ‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘It’s been in my mother’s family for a very long time.’

  ‘Does she come here very often?’ she asked as she took the flute he passed to her.

  ‘Not these days.’ He shook his head. ‘She suffers from rheumatoid arthritis and much prefers the climate of Argentina to that of London. And since my father died she is not so keen on travel as she used to be.’ He lifted his glass. ‘To an enjoyable evening,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, raising her own glass, ‘an enjoyable evening.’

  They both took sips then Andres said, ‘I hope you’ll enjoy it, Lara—that it won’t be too boring for you, not knowing anyone.’

  ‘I know you,’ she said.

  He stared at her. ‘Yes,’ he said at last, ‘of course you do. And, Lara?’ He paused, his gaze searching.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I would like us to appear as an item tonight, a couple, not merely that you are my date for the evening.’ He paused again. ‘Will that be a problem?’

  She swallowed her champagne, which she had held in her mouth, hardly daring to even breathe let alone swallow while she’d waited to see what he was going to say. ‘Of course not,’ she said at last, her eyes watering as the bubbles fizzed in her nose.

  ‘Good.’ He replied, almost briskly, she thought, as if he was discussing the finer details of a business agreement instead of an evening out—which, when she really thought about it, was exactly what it was. She might have been happier to think of it as her doing a favour for him as a friend but, in fact, it really was a transaction in repayment for him securing the post for her at the Roseberry. The thought depressed her slightly and she took another sip of champagne before perching uneasily on the edge of the sofa and setting her glass down on the coffee-table.

  They talked of other things—Callum’s football team and the fact that Cassie had taken the children to visit her and Lara’s parents that day.

  ‘Where do they live?’ asked Andres, and Lara decided that he really wanted to know and wasn’t merely being polite.

  ‘In a little village on the South Coast,’ she replied. ‘My father worked in a boatyard up until his retirement about five years ago. He and my mother live in a small cottage now, but Dad still has a boat and enjoys fishing and pottering about.’

  ‘It sounds idyllic.’ Andres smiled then lifted his head as the doorbell rang. ‘That will be our cab. Are you ready?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She set her glass down, stood up and with her pulse suddenly racing followed him out of the room.

  The cab took them to Chelsea and drew up in front of yet another elegant town house, this time the one belonging to Theo and Annabel. As Lara stepped from the taxi and Andres took her arm, she glanced up and in the first-floor windows of the house saw yet more lighted crystal chandeliers. Moments later a uniformed doorman was ushering them into the house and up a wide, sweeping staircase to the first-floor reception rooms where Theo and Annabel were waiting to receive them, Theo handsome in evening dress and his wife a tall, willowy blonde in a sea-green dress that shimmered as she moved.

  ‘Hello, Andres, old man.’ Theo gripped Andres’s hand in a hearty handshake then turned to Lara. ‘Lara,’ he said. ‘Lovely to see you, and welcome to our home.’ Turning to his wife, he said, ‘This is my wife, Annabel, whom I don’t believe you’ve met. Annabel, darling, this is Lara Gregory.’

  ‘Lara, at last,’ murmured Annabel. ‘I seem to have been the only one who hasn’t met you.’ Briefly she touched Lara’s hand then turning to Andres, kissed him on the cheek, ‘Dark horse,’ she murmured, and led them through to meet other guests who were already assembled in the gracious reception rooms of her home.

  At first Lara was bewildered by the names and struggled to remember who was who, but gradually she relaxed, helped no doubt by the champagne she’d had before leaving Andres’s home, the cocktails that were being served at the McFarlanes’ and the fact that as they moved into the room, Andres had put an arm around her shoulders. The gesture, while protective and somehow comforting, was also exciting in that it seemed to announce to everyone present that she was his woman. The fact that it was for that evening only didn’t really matter, for those people who eyed her with undisguised interest didn’t know that, and by the time they went in to dinner Lara had become so used to him at her side and the touch of his hand, whether beneath her elbow or on her shoulder, that even she was beginning to forget it.

  There was, of course, a decidedly romantic theme to the evening, with delicacies chosen for their supposed aphrodisiac qualities and an abundance of chocolate, hearts and flowers.

  Lara was well aware that she came under intense scrutiny from these people, most of whom were old friends of Andres, such as the merchant banker and his wife who seemed hell bent on finding out who her father was and what he did for a living. When Lara truthfully answered that he had been a boatbuilder, it was assumed that he had been involved in some huge shipping conglomerate. This naturally led on to talk of yachts and where different guests had theirs berthed for the winter. Someone asked Lara where her family lived, and when she mentioned the boatyard and the cottage on the South Coast she was met with blank looks and the talk turned abruptly to Cowes and the Americas Cup.

  Then there was the captain of industry whose main interest in life appeared to be playing polo and who asked Lara if she enjoyed the game. While she was thinking of a way to tell him that she’d never actually been to a match in her life, he went one stage further and asked her if she’d seen Andres play.

  ‘I haven’t yet had that honour,’ she replied.

  ‘Why, the man could have been a professional if he hadn’t gone into medicine.’

  ‘So where did you meet Andres?’ asked a woman in a silver sequinned dress, her black hair cut into a severe geometrical shape. One of those moments of silence followed her question, the sort of lull in any conversation that occurred naturally, but which on this occasion prompted everyone to remain silent in order to hear Lara’s reply.

  This time, however, it was Theo who answered, Theo, the perfect host who would not allow any guest under his roof to be embarrassed. ‘Lara is a colleague,’ he sa
id lightly. ‘That is where Andres and I both met her.’

  There was renewed interest as people turned to look at Lara, then mercifully the moment passed as the conversation commenced once more.

  When dinner was over, coffee was served in the drawing room where Lara found herself on a window-seat that overlooked the street. On the far side of the room she saw that Andres had been waylaid by a group of people who seemed to have trapped him in a corner, and as she leaned forward to stir her coffee, Annabel joined her and her heart sank. She had been on the point of congratulating herself on how well the evening was going, but she knew that Annabel could prove to be the toughest challenge yet to the deception being played out by herself and Andres.

  ‘Lara, at last, time for a little chat,’ said Annabel as she sat down and flicked back her sleek blonde hair. ‘Tell me, darling, are you enjoying yourself?’

  ‘Oh, yes, very much, thank you.’ Lara smiled brightly in an attempt to hide her sudden nervousness. ‘You have a beautiful home.’

  ‘Why, thank you. I must say, Theo and I really do love it here.’

  ‘Do you have children?’ asked Lara, desperate to draw the conversation away from herself and Andres.

  ‘Yes, we have two,’ Annabel replied. ‘William who is eight and Felicity who is three.’

  ‘How lovely,’ murmured Lara.

  ‘We were so thrilled when Andres said he wanted to bring you tonight.’ Annabel, it seemed, had no intention of talking about herself or her children. ‘He’s been on his own for far too long.’ She narrowed her eyes slightly. ‘You do know about Consuela?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Lara replied, thankful that Andres had put her in the picture.

  ‘We feared for him, you know.’ Annabel lowered her voice and out of the corner of her eye Lara saw the slightly anxious expression on Andres’s face as he looked towards them. ‘At the time of her death and since…’

  ‘Since?’ Lara tried to appear interested.

  ‘Yes. He hasn’t seemed to be able to get over her death.’