There was absolutely no point in getting emotional about any of this. She just needed to compartmentalise her feelings and move on, like she always did. ‘Hello?’
‘Ivy?’
Matteo. She swallowed back the lump in her throat and disregarded the accompanying jittery heart rate at the sound of his voice. She would not show him any reason to feel sorry for her, she would not let him know her feelings. She infused her voice with cheeriness. ‘Hello! How’s Joey?’
‘Good, you saw the note. He’s a lot better now. He had a ureteral obstruction, which didn’t resolve with a nephrostomy. I operated early this morning.’
‘Er…English, Matteo?’ Cradling the phone between her ear and her shoulder, she filled the kettle, plonked two teabags into a teapot and tried very hard to act normally.
‘I had to take him back to Theatre to unblock a blockage. What is wrong?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
‘But your voice isn’t right. You are upset?’ He knew the timbre of her voice? He knew her so well he could tell when she was upset, without words? He knew her too well. She’d let him in too—she’d let him in and she was going to get hurt. Because that’s what happened if she let her guard down. There was a pause she didn’t know how to fill. Then he was back again.
‘Are you cross because I left? I’m sorry I had to leave so quickly and so early. I didn’t want to wake you.’ Another pause, then his voice was more serious. ‘I need to talk to you.’
Uh-huh. She knew exactly what was coming, but she couldn’t do a heart-to-heart, not without understanding what the heck was going on in her head and why her body had become a quivering mess. Why she desperately needed to feel his arms around her when it was the opposite of what she should be needing.
But something had to be said, surely? They’d moved further into something last night. Something tangible and deep and frighteningly wonderful. And so very, very dangerous. A line had been crossed and it couldn’t be ignored.
But it could be delayed. Until she’d got a better grip on herself. ‘Another time, Matteo. I’m busy… I have too much to do.’
‘That is what I mean.’
‘Sorry? You’re not making sense.’
‘I saw the boss today at the hospital. Pinkney. I told him your dilemma and he agreed to a week of compassionate leave. You can stay with your mum and work can wait. I fixed it for you.’ He had a smile in his voice and she imagined that wonderful mouth curving upwards, the light in his eyes. And felt a stab of pain in her solar plexus.
You drive me crazy.
And he did. And that was the problem. He drove her wild with desire, he drove her to the edge, he drove her to want things she couldn’t have. To dream impossible things. And now he was trying to fix her messed-up life. And it would be so easy to let him do it—so easy, and yet the hardest thing in the world. Because she could not let go of her grip on her life.
‘But, you see…I don’t want you to do that. I don’t need you to fix things for me, I can manage quite well on my own. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.’ It was harsh. And it was everything she needed to believe and feel again but didn’t, but if she kept on saying it he’d get the message and she wouldn’t have to face him. Or this. Or herself.
‘I thought that was what you wanted. I was trying to help.’ She could hear the building anger in his voice. And, yes, he’d been kind, as always, and thought he was doing the right thing. But, as it turned out, she hadn’t needed him to. Once again she was surplus to Angela’s requirements.
‘Thank you. But I won’t be needing it. Please, don’t interfere in things like that again. Not my work. Thank you.’
‘Hey! Stop right there. Do not talk to me as if I am just a colleague, as if there is nothing between us. Ivy, we need to talk.’
‘I’m not sure there’s anything to say.’
His voice was louder, harsher. ‘And I think there is. I think that what happened last night meant something. Did it mean nothing to you?’
She could lie, but he’d know. He knew her. He knew what had passed between them last night, the startling honesty and the wonder—that wasn’t something she could deny. It had been too profound, too…too much—and it had shocked them both. She lowered her voice, the truth of her words like glass shards in her gut. ‘Yes. Yes. It meant something.’
‘So explain to me what is happening here, because I’m confused. You’re distant and different from the woman I know. Damn it, Ivy, tell me the truth.’
I’m saying that you mean too much to me. That I have to let you go. ‘I’m sorry, really. I do have to go.’ Her heart twisted keenly, making her inhale. But her lungs wouldn’t work. She forced the words through a closed throat. ‘Goodbye, Matteo.’
It was for the best. It was. And one day she’d thank herself for it.
Without waiting another moment, she flicked the phone off and went up to her room to pack. It was time to go home.
Wherever the hell that was. But it wasn’t here. And it wasn’t in Matteo’s arms.
* * *
Round three. Part one.
Matteo circumvented the tasteless coffee table and surreptitiously drank out of his clandestine cup as he mingled with the waiting group. The only saving grace was that Ivy wouldn’t be here to tempt him, to confuse him. To drive him mad all over again.
In fact, it was very useful that he’d had to leave in the night to come and see Joey, before he’d had a chance to do anything even more foolish than make love to a woman who was destined to trample all over his heart. She’d proved that enough when she’d answered his attempts at intimacy with silence. Refuted his well-intentioned intervention into her work life—which, for the record, he’d thought was the right thing to do.
But that would never happen again, not if it generated such a response. He could feel his blood pressure rising at the memory of her sharp words and the swiftly ended phone call. The reminder that relationships brought about all kinds of problems that he was better not having.
He took a seat in the front row, glared at the clock. Willed the day to be over so he could get the big fat tick on his attendance sheet and eventually put this whole exercise behind him. Then he wouldn’t have any more unreturned calls to Ivy Leigh. Along with the whole bunch of questions and no answers.
The door swung open and her assistant walked in, handed out the day’s schedule. And—
In walked Ivy.
Matteo’s head pounded. That blood pressure was rising at an alarming rate. Why was she not in York?
‘Good morning, everyone.’ She was all business and no eye contact. Well, no eye contact with him at any rate. ‘Welcome to the third day in our social media course. Today we are going to expand on branding and why it is important in this technological age to capitalise on it. I’m going to give a few pointers about how we do this as a company, and how you can help…’
He didn’t want to help. He wanted it to be over. He wanted to be alone with her. He wanted her. That was the startling, raw, naked truth of it. And at the same time he knew that wanting a woman who did not want him back was the first step to madness.
Two hours later they were split into more infuriating groups to discuss brand statements. Ivy walked over, her limp undiminished—in fact, worse than usual. He put it down to the bicycle accident. She looked tired and frazzled and distant. To stop himself from spending too much time just looking at her, at the proud, straight back, the curve of a breast he knew was lush and sweet, the unintentionally honest green eyes, he started to give his ideas to the group. ‘Brand statements… Okay. We help children. We save lives. I know…we save children’s lives…er… Children first? Kids first…? Aargh. This is pointless. I’m a doctor, not a marketing person. I instinctively know what the brand is, I live the damned thing every day—why do I have to come up with a statement?’
She stopped at his shoulder. ‘So that we are all on the same page, Mr Finelli. If we have a mission statement and a brand statement that are symbiotic
then we all have a pathway for our work.’
Mr Finelli now, was it? ‘I already have one and, I imagine, so does everyone here. It’s about doing our best…for everyone. And about being open and honest about intention.’
Judging by the two hot spots on her cheeks, she took the veiled meaning for what it was. He didn’t like playing guessing games. He didn’t like hot and cold. He liked to know exactly where he stood. On all things. He didn’t like having the phone put down on him when he was trying hard to work things through.
‘I…I…understand…’ She looked away. ‘So—’
‘I am not sure you do, Miss Leigh. This hospital is about children, we all know that. Children are not a brand, they are people. Living, breathing, vulnerable and sick people. Show me how branding can really, actually, honestly change a single life more than what we do here every day then I’ll be impressed. Until then, well, I just want to do my job in peace. Like you, I presume, with no needless distractions.’
For a moment she stared at him open-mouthed, the two hot-spots spreading across her neck like a rash. And he immediately regretted allowing his frustration to overspill into this public domain.
She gave a quick clap of her hands. ‘Okay, everyone, let’s break for morning tea.’ Then she turned to him and whispered, ‘Outside. Now.’
A cruel wind whipped at the side of the red-brick hospital building as they huddled in a disused doorway. She’d made sure they were well away from prying ears and eyes. So typical. Anything to keep the work-life divide real. He cut through the tension. ‘Ivy. How come you are here? Your mum?’
‘Is fine, it appears. I came back on Sunday. The train…’ Her tone was dismissive, not allowing for any more discussion on that subject. ‘It’s not important.’
‘I see.’ This was a surprise, especially given the compassionate leave she’d been granted and her stated intention that she wanted to fix things. She clearly wasn’t going to expand on this, she was closed off and wound as tight as that first day he’d met her. Was this really the warm-hearted woman who had held him so tightly outside the cardiac care unit? Who had screamed loudly in a pub? Who had laughed heartily at his jokes? Who had gripped him and exposed her fears? Who had lain breathless and spent on his bed after the best lovemaking of his life?
She looked at him now with a taut line of a mouth. With eyes that she clearly hoped were cold and distant but which gave away a traitorous flicker of heat. She would not like to know that, he supposed. ‘So work won out in the end? I’m surprised, Ivy. I thought you had changed your priorities a little. What do you want to say to me?’
‘Work did not win. My mother simply didn’t need me.’ That flicker of heat gave way to sadness. Something had happened between her and her mum and she was dealing with it badly. ‘Now, I’d be grateful if you could keep our personal life out of the work environment.’
‘Since when did I bring it in?’
Her eyes fired up again. ‘When you spoke to Pinkney. And with the between-the-lines comments in there. I’m at work. We both are. Please, remember that.’
Leaning against the wall, he looked at her, barely trying to disguise his surprise and growing anger. ‘No one knows anything. And since you have refused to speak to me in private I’m stuck with having to put things between the lines. I told you about my life, I told you how much I value honesty. What the hell is going on, Ivy?’
‘I…’ She shook her head, the tautness of her mouth softening, wobbling slightly, and for a moment he thought she might cry. ‘I don’t know what to say. Just that I’m sorry, but…’
And it was all well and good being angry with her, but he knew deep down that she was not a hurtful kind of woman. That she was facing challenges that were testing her, pushing her to the limits. That she was warm and funny and with a lot to give and usually had too many words but now had none.
Matteo stepped closer but ignored the need to pull her to him. She was so proud she would never allow that. He kept his voice low. ‘Okay. Talk to me. Please, that’s all I ask. I will start. This all took me by surprise. Things went from slow to fast in a heartbe—’
‘Yes. Yes.’ She held her hand up and stopped him from saying more. ‘Thank goodness you feel the same. Too fast, Matteo. Too deep. Too quick. I never wanted this. I like being on my own. I like not having to make decisions for someone else. I’m too independent for all this. Last weekend was…nice. And thank you. But we can’t… I can’t—’
‘Nice? Nice? All the words in the world and that’s the one you choose. Oh, Ivy. What kind of game are you playing? Because I don’t understand your rules. One day you were happy to be with me, and now…this coldness.’
‘I’m not playing a game. I’m being serious. I don’t want a relationship. I can’t…do it. I can’t give myself… I don’t want to.’ She looked down at her watch. ‘Damn. Look, I have to go back in and start.’
‘Just like that, it is over?’
‘Yes. Yes, it is.’
He waited for relief to flood in, but it didn’t. Only bitter sadness, a hole in his chest. Which was surprising and startling and bleak. The thought that he’d see her over and over again in the hospital and never get to kiss those lips. To hold her close and stroke her cheek. To be at the end of a smart quip. This was not how he’d envisioned he would feel and he didn’t know what to do or say. He was out of his depth here, with feelings swirling inside him. He didn’t want them but he couldn’t seem to let them go. What did it mean?
Did he love her? Surely he could not have done such a thing? He had always protected himself from that. Because of the pain. Because of Elizabetta, because he had been so wary to give his heart to a woman and watch her toss it aside. Was Ivy any different from that? He’d hoped so, but now he wasn’t so sure.
‘No more talking about it? I have no choice?’
‘No. Please. Don’t make me say anything else. Because I don’t know what more to say.’ She gave a swift shrug of her shoulder and blinked away what he thought might be tears. ‘I really do have to go and finish this workshop.’
‘Always your job.’
‘Oh, yes, well, you know me. No hard feelings?’
‘I thought I did know you, but I was wrong.’ He watched as she swivelled on the hard gravel and began to walk back towards the conference room. ‘And, no, Ivy, I have no hard feelings. I have no feelings about this at all.’
And that was when he knew that he’d fallen completely for her. That he had given her much, much more than he’d ever intended; he’d given her his heart on a platter and all but invited her to chop it into pieces. Yes, he knew he’d fallen in too deep, because saying he had no feelings was the first real lie he’d ever told.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘BACK FOR MORE, I see? You’re a glutton for punishment.’ Nancy gave Ivy a little smile as she gave her wet hands a shake and scanned the OR prep-room sinks, looking for the paper towels. ‘You’ve done so well, considering what you were like that first time.’
‘Thanks.’ It was all Ivy could muster. She was feeling much worse than that first day—she may well have mastered the sight of blood, but mastering the sight of Matteo Finelli was something she would probably never be able to do. She could see him through the glass door in the OR, talking and laughing with the anaesthetist. Her stomach clenched into a tight ball.
She didn’t want to face him today, because yesterday she’d felt as if her heart was shattering. She’d summoned every single ounce of strength she’d had to tell him it was over, when it felt like the words had been stuck in her throat, refusing to come out. She’d had no sleep, curled up with Hugo, who she’d rescued from the clutches of daddy Richard. And, unsurprisingly, Hugo had been about as helpful with relationship advice as her mother.
And now…well, now she had to stand with Matteo all day and watch him save another life. Watch him laugh and joke and be lovely and warm to all those people and feel her heart beating to the rhythm of his voice, feel the pull of her body towards him, and know
that it made no sense to take those steps, no matter how much she was compelled to.
The door swung open and he strode in.
Looking around, she realised Nancy had gone and they were alone. She took a deep breath. ‘Matteo, hello.’
‘I thought it was Mr Finelli these days.’ He wasn’t wearing a surgical mask so she felt the full effect of his indifference. No, actually, it was a simmering deep anger that he’d dressed up as indifference. She’d hurt him and that had not been her intention.
‘Matteo, please—’
He shook his head. ‘Miss Leigh, I can honestly say that I have no problem whatsoever about bowing out of our petty little war. I’m even happy to admit you to be the winner—in truth, it makes no difference to me. So you have no need to be here.’ He came a little closer, not close enough that she could touch him but enough that she felt the magnetic pull towards him, and feel, too, the venom in his words. ‘In fact, I’m asking you leave.’
‘To leave? But—why?’
His eyes bored into her, stern, angry, righteous. ‘Because having you here distracts me. I need to be fully focused on my work. It is better if you’re not here, particularly for the patient. And that, after all, is the full focus of your job, right?’
‘Matteo, please—’
This time he held up his hand and she shut up immediately. ‘Did you really think I would let you in? What an idea! When you don’t let anyone in yourself? When you don’t even know how?’
‘I can’t. I tried, but I can’t.’ Because the second she’d let him in she’d started to be someone else. She hadn’t been Ivy Leigh any more…and she didn’t want that. She wanted to keep herself intact.
‘Things might have worked if we’d both wanted to try.’
‘But…’ She finally found the words to admit how she was feeling. ‘I don’t want to lose myself.’
Tempted by Her Italian Surgeon Page 15
