The Surgeon's Miracle

by Caroline Anderson

  Nothing like the previous one, she was sure, but she felt a flutter of nervous anticipation. A quiet dinner in? Taking her out to a restaurant? A walk in the park?

  Maybe nothing much at all. Maybe he’d just want to spend the time alone, and maybe the something he’d said they’d arrange would turn out to be a very small something indeed.

  ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ she muttered, and Chloe stirred slightly, silencing her. She was being ridiculous. She wasn’t supposed to be letting her heart get involved.

  Too late, of course. It had been too late for that the moment he’d kissed her in the park, after they’d had lunch in the folly and walked through the woods just six days ago.

  Certainly too late by the time he’d made love to her on Saturday night, and by Sunday evening any hope of remaining detached had been firmly blown out of the water.

  But she still wondered what they’d be doing this weekend…

  Andrew was desperate to get Libby to himself. They’d been so busy at work that he’d hardly seen her.

  Well, that wasn’t true. Considering they weren’t supposed to be having a relationship, he was seeing a crazy amount of her, but it still wasn’t enough, and he wanted her to himself. And he wanted to do nothing. Go nowhere, do nothing, just chill. He wondered if she’d be horribly disappointed if he suggested that, but it had been a busy couple of weeks and he just needed some down-time.

  They’d do the garden, he decided. He didn’t know if she liked gardening, but his needed attention whether she liked it or not, so if she didn’t he’d just have to cut the grass and leave the rest for another time, he decided.

  Always assuming Jacob was doing all right. They’d lightened the sedation that morning and he’d become restless, so they’d increased the pain relief and he’d settled. The fixators on his legs and pelvis were doing a good job and Andrew had no intention of interfering with them. The bones were well aligned and he was healing fast, so it was best left, and because he wasn’t on call and little Jacob was still stable by the evening, his weekend was his own. They would split it between the two houses, because of Kitty, but tonight he wanted to be in his own home, with Libby.

  He picked her up when he’d finished work at seven and took her back to his house, filling her in on the way about Jacob’s progress, and she thought he was more relaxed than she’d ever seen him.

  Relaxed and open and—happy.

  Chris Turner would be impressed, she thought, remembering his comments a week ago at dinner.

  Exactly a week, in fact, since the dinner party for his mother’s birthday. Only a week. Heavens. It seemed much more. They seemed to have done so much in that time, gone so far, and yet they’d gone nowhere. They were still skirting around the question of their relationship, still taking every moment as it came, and to expect anything else would be greedy, she told herself as Andrew disappeared for a shower.

  He came back a few minutes later in his favourite worn old jeans and a heavy cotton shirt, rolled up his sleeves and cooked for her, while she perched on a stool at the breakfast bar and watched him, his hands quick and precise, the surgeon at work. He sliced and shredded and chopped, threw everything into a wok and stir-fried it, poured in a jar of sauce and served it up on a bed of rice.

  ‘Wow,’ she said, savouring the first mouthful. ‘This is gorgeous.’

  ‘It’s my speciality—fork food in bottled sauce. I only cook things that can be eaten with one hand because I’m usually eating while I check my email or write a report, and I have a very limited repertoire, so enjoy it while you can, because you’ll very quickly get sick of it.’

  She chuckled, but his words made her think. Was he intending her to be around for long enough to grow tired of his choice of menu? Or was it, indeed, a very short list?

  Whatever, she’d savour every moment.

  ‘Do you like gardening?’ he asked suddenly, and she glanced up and saw a frown pleating his forehead.

  ‘Yes—well, I think so, but I don’t really know. It all depends on what you call gardening. I’ve only got a tiny garden, but I love pottering in it and I’d like to do more. Why?’

  ‘Because I need to cut the grass tomorrow and the hedge could do with trimming and some of the borders need a tweak, but I don’t want to bore you to death.’

  ‘You won’t bore me to death. It sounds fun.’

  His frown disappeared. ‘Good,’ he said softly, and she realised he’d been troubled about it.

  Why? Because he didn’t know her, of course. They’d hurtled into this relationship by accident, really, without thought or planning, and she was pretty sure Andrew didn’t do that. She was also pretty sure that the only reason they were still seeing each other was because it was easy. She hadn’t expected anything, hadn’t demanded anything, and so long as they both kept it light and just enjoyed each other’s company, it was harmless.

  In theory.

  And for now, at least, she could keep it that way. Her appointment with the genetic counsellor hadn’t come through yet, so she could stall the decision she had to make that could have a lasting and devastating impact on her future, and live solely for the present.

  She put it out of her mind, ate the food he’d cooked for her, drank a couple of glasses of wine and went to bed with him, falling asleep in his arms. And on Saturday morning, because it had rained overnight and the grass was too wet to cut, they had a lie-in and then drove to Ashenden.

  ‘We’ll see if my parents are around, maybe have a coffee, then we could have lunch in the pub and go for a walk, if you like.’

  Will and Sally were just unloading shopping out of the boot of their car when they pulled up, and they all went into the main family kitchen and found Jane and Tony in front of the Aga, drinking coffee with the dogs snoring at their feet.

  ‘Have you got a pot on the go there, Ma?’ Will asked, and she nodded and filled four mugs and slid them across the table, throwing Libby a welcoming smile.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you again, Libby. Did you enjoy last weekend?’

  ‘Oh, I did. It was wonderful. Thank you so much for including me.’

  ‘Oh, it’s a pleasure,’ she said, and Libby could almost hear the wedding bells ringing. Oh, Andrew, she thought, and stifled a sigh. They’d be so disappointed if they knew the truth.

  She sat and listened to them talking, Will and his father discussing estate business, Andrew chipping in and offering his opinion, and then Will glanced at his watch and drained his mug. ‘We ought to be getting on. Sally’s decided to decorate the nursery and I’ve been given the job. Why don’t you two drop by on your way home after your walk and have tea?’

  ‘OK. We won’t be with you long, though, I’ve got things to do in the garden this afternoon.’

  ‘Me, too,’ Jane added, getting to her feet. ‘I’ve got a major programme of replanting going on in the rose garden this season, and there are some old ones to come out and lots of perennials that need lifting, and I still haven’t drawn up a plan. Tony, I could do with a hand with that, if you’ve got time.’

  She bent over and dropped a kiss on Andrew’s cheek, then smiled at Libby. ‘I’m sorry we’ve got to rush off. I hope we’ll see you again soon—perhaps Andrew will bring you over for supper one night.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ Andrew said easily, getting to his feet as they left, and then he scooped up the mugs, put them in the dishwasher and turned to Libby. ‘Shall we make a move?’

  Lunch in the pub was lovely.

  She started by looking at the pudding menu, chose the end of her meal and then planned the beginning, while Andrew rolled his eyes and chuckled.

  ‘What? What? Why waste a good pudding by getting too full first?’

  ‘Women. So what are you having?’

  ‘Raspberry crème brûlée, preceded by crayfish and scallop risotto—or maybe I want the rice pudding, in which case the risotto is silly,’ she said, making him laugh again.

  ‘The risotto’s gorgeous, and so’s the crème
brûlée. Have the rice pudding another time.’

  ‘Or you could have it and we could share.’

  He chuckled. ‘We could. I was going to have apple crumble.’

  ‘Oh! That’s nice, too—stop laughing at me!’

  She had the risotto in the end, and stole some of his pan-fried chicken liver and bacon salad, and they shared the puddings over coffee, which meant they were running out of time.

  ‘Do you still want a walk, or tea with Will and Sally? We haven’t really got time for both if I’m going to cut the grass.’

  ‘Will and Sally?’ she suggested, and he nodded.

  ‘Good idea. We can see this nursery and admire their handiwork.’

  She’d only been in the hall of the east wing, and she was looking forward to seeing the rest of it. She was busy thinking that the entrance was a bit of a disappointment, however, when it dawned on her that it was actually the back door.

  There was a bell push, but Andrew just knocked and walked in, to find Sally in the kitchen in Will’s arms. ‘Put her down,’ he said drily, and Will grunted, dropped a tender, lingering kiss on Sally’s lips and let her go.

  ‘Spoilsport. I’m just taking advantage of the last few weeks of having my wife to myself before it all comes to a grinding halt. How was lunch?’

  ‘Lovely. I ate too much,’ Libby confessed, and Sally laughed.

  ‘Oh, you wait till you’re pregnant. You can’t eat a darned thing without feeling full, and then ten seconds later you’re starving again! I’ve turned into a herbivore—I graze constantly. Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Coffee,’ Andrew said, and Libby said nothing, because Sally’s words were echoing in her head. If she stayed with Andrew, managed to convince him that they’d be happy together, she’d never be pregnant, never know what Sally was talking about, never have to decorate a nursery or walk the landing all night with a grizzly baby or go to a parents’ evening and get roped into the PTA.

  ‘We’ve just had coffee,’ she said, coming to at last, but Will just grinned.

  ‘Ah, but this is good coffee, not Ma’s decaf rubbish or the stuff they serve in the pub. And we’ve got serious chocolate biscuits.’

  She opened her mouth to say no, caught sight of the packet Will was waggling and buckled. ‘Oh, well, then, that’s different,’ she said with a laugh, and after they’d admired Will’s handiwork in the nursery, they ended up sitting around the table in the kitchen—a huge room with high ceilings and glorious views over the river—and drinking coffee and eating biscuits for over an hour before Andrew stood up and pulled her to her feet.

  ‘Come on, or it’ll be dark before we get home and get that grass cut,’ he said, and something about the word ‘home’ just took her breath away.

  No, she told herself, getting to her feet and saying goodbye to the others. It was just a figure of speech, a casual remark. It wasn’t home—not hers, not theirs, no matter how ludicrously tempting it sounded. Home was her little house, with Kitty and her redundant duster and vacuum cleaner and the washing machine that thought it had been pensioned off, not Andrew’s beautiful barn with its spectacular views and rustic charm.

  And she’d better not forget it.

  The next week was busy, as ever, and they fell into the pattern of the previous week. They met for coffee whenever they could, snatching a few minutes here and there, and if they could they’d have lunch, but more often they’d meet up after work and spend the night together in one house or the other. And for people who weren’t supposed to be having a relationship, Libby thought, they were actually doing a fine job of it!

  They went over for supper with Will and Sally on Tuesday night, and because he’d got away early and it was a beautiful evening, they went out into the park and walked around the Great Wood before supper, the dogs milling around their feet and sending a small herd of deer fleeing into the cover, vanishing like mist.

  The sun was setting over the fields in the distance, the sky shot with red and gold, and as she strolled along with Andrew, she thought she’d never been so happy.

  They went back to the house for supper, eaten in the kitchen, and because Sally was tired and they had to work in the morning, they left early and went back—to Andrew’s house, yet again, for the night, and she lay in his arms and listened to the sound of his heart as she fell asleep.

  ‘Are you going on holiday this year?’ he asked casually the next morning as they were lying together contemplating the unwelcome thought of getting out of bed.

  ‘Maybe, later on when my bank account’s recovered from last year’s extravagance. Why?’

  ‘Make sure your passport’s valid. I had to look at mine yesterday because I’ve got a conference coming up and I’ll need it, and I’ve had it so long I couldn’t remember when it expires. It’s just so easy to overlook and then you check just before you go and all hell breaks loose. It’s happened to me before and it was a nightmare. I only just got it back in time.’

  She ran a fingertip over his chin and down his throat, relishing the rough rasp of his morning beard. ‘So you aren’t about to whisk me away anywhere exotic, then?’ she teased, hoping he’d say yes, but he just chuckled.

  ‘Sadly not, but it’s an idea. I suppose you could come to this conference with me, if you aren’t doing anything else, but it might be rather dull, though. They tend to be a bit hectic and it’s only in Brussels, not very exotic at all.’

  ‘Oh, you make it sound so exciting,’ she said drily. ‘I think I’ll pass.’

  ‘They don’t run all night,’ he murmured, and she snuggled back down with her head on his chest, listening to the steady, even beat of his heart under her ear.

  ‘No, I suppose they don’t. You’d have to make it irresistible, though, to tempt me.’

  His laugh rumbled under her ear. ‘Well, you’d better check your passport when you get home, hadn’t you? It would be a shame if you talk me into taking you and then you end up not being able to come after all.’

  She felt a little twinge of disappointment that it was only an afterthought and he didn’t sound over-enthusiastic, but that was silly. Why on earth should he be thinking of taking her away? Not that they needed to go away, anyway, because just to be here with him was all that she asked.

  She loved waking up in his house, with the uncurtained window overlooking open countryside just there at the foot of the bed, so they could lie there and stare out across the fields and not see a soul. And despite all her attempts to hold herself in check, it was beginning to feel more and more like home, and staying there was getting to be a habit.

  ‘It’s so lovely here,’ she murmured. ‘Really peaceful.’

  ‘It is. I love it. I could stay here all day.’

  ‘Sadly not,’ she said drily, and sighed. ‘Poor Kitty. I’m beginning to feel so guilty about her. She must think I don’t love her any more.’

  ‘We’ll stay there tonight,’ he said. ‘And all weekend. Will and Sally are tied up with a charity event on Sunday at Ashenden, and I’m keeping well out of it. We can get pizza and a DVD and lie in front of the telly with the cat and feed her cheese.’

  ‘You do realise she’s just a cupboard lover, don’t you?’ Libby said drily, prising herself off his chest and getting out of bed. ‘I’m going to shower or I’ll be late for work.’

  ‘I need to get in early, too. I’ll shower with you.’

  ‘So, tell me, how is this going to speed things up?’ she asked, as he took her into his arms under the pounding spray and kissed her thoroughly.

  ‘Multi-tasking,’ he said, and muffled her laughter with his kiss.

  She’d wondered, as he’d made love to her in the shower, how long it would be before the bubble burst, and later that morning something happened that brought reality home with a vengeance.

  Andrew appeared on the ward holding a set of notes, and paused at the nurses’ station. ‘Could we have a word?’ he murmured, and she smiled.

  ‘Could we have a word,’ was code for ‘come into
the office, I want to hug you,’ but once they were in there, his first words drove all such thoughts out of her head.

  ‘I’ve got a patient coming in later today that I wanted to talk to you about. Briefly, he had a fall from his wheelchair two weeks ago and broke his arm, but he’s getting pins and needles now. I reviewed it yesterday in the fracture clinic and it needs surgery, so I’m admitting him. The problem is he’s got DMD.’

  DMD. Duchenne muscular dystrophy. She felt the blood drain out of her face, and she had to remind herself to breathe.

  ‘His heart isn’t great and his pCO2 is high—his lungs are very compromised because of pronounced scoliosis, so he’s not a good surgical risk, but the cardiologist and physicians are going to review him tomorrow and we’ll see if we think we can go ahead with the arm under general anaesthetic. Otherwise I’ll have to do it with a nerve block and mild sedation, but that’s a bit grim for a kid, and for his parents.’

  She nodded, still reeling. Why? Why now, of all the times, when she’d just discovered how much it mattered that she wasn’t—?

  ‘OK, this is the picture show,’ he said, snapping plates up onto the box light in the office. ‘Here’s the arm—you can see how it’s displaced now, compared to straight after the fracture. And this is his spine. You can see the curvature here—and this was two years ago. It’s worse now. His lung capacity is becoming more compromised, and he’s finding it all more uncomfortable, but we can’t do that kind of op here and at the moment I’m just concerned with his arm. His spine needs review at a specialist centre, and I intend to refer him as soon as this arm is sorted to see if they can do something to improve the quality of his life. I just hope he’s up to it but I’m afraid it might have been left too late.’

  Libby studied the plates with a frown. She wasn’t an expert on DMD by any means, but she’d been reading up on it recently, and she forced herself to recall the facts—not hard, under the circumstances, but hard to think clearly.