The bright lights of the operating theatre suite should be far more effective than daylight even in restoring reality, and Luke would welcome the return to normality. He could hasten it, by a nudge in the right direction.
‘So you know what’s on the agenda this morning? For baby Liam?’
‘Three surgeries in one go, from what I could gather.’
‘Pretty much. An arterial switch, VSD closure and repair of an aortic coarctation.’
His registrar whistled silently and any thoughts of Christmas shopping were clearly dispelled. They were in for a long, hard session in Theatre.
Preparations to put the infant onto the heart-lung bypass machine were painstaking and time-consuming, complicated by having to leave access to the arteries that needed repositioning. It was nearly 8:00 a.m. when the tiny heart was stopped with the cold, high-potassium solution that would also protect the heart muscle while it was not functioning.
Luke was already deep within the zone that would enable him to operate with no lessening of precision for many hours. Cutting tiny areas of miniature vessels and placing stitches he needed magnifying goggles to visualise accurately. Coating every suture line with fibrin glue.
Short breaks to flex muscles and counteract strain were taken, but for minimal periods of time only. Six hours on bypass were getting to the limits of what a baby could tolerate well and Luke intended finishing before then.
The session finished, as it had begun, with another complication. An abnormal rhythm persisted after the heart was restarted and did not respond well enough to the cocktail of drugs Luke ordered.
‘We’ll keep him ventilated and on sequential atrioventricular pacing,’ he decided eventually. ‘Let’s get up to ICU.’
Had he bothered to think about it, Luke would have decided he was entirely grounded in reality again by the time he accompanied his patient to the highly specialised unit. The fact that nothing remotely unprofessional crossed his mind made it a non-issue.
So it was a huge shock to walk into the unit and see Amy sitting beside Summer’s bed, holding the little girl’s hand. Leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.
To instantly remember his own experience of the touch of Amy’s lips.
And—ever so slightly—to feel the ground shift beneath his feet once more.
‘It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow,’ Amy was telling Summer. ‘When all the boys and girls are asleep, Father Christmas will come and leave presents under the tree.’
‘For…me?’
‘Of course for you, darling.’ Amy kissed Summer’s forehead. ‘I’ll bring it in when I come to visit.’
She looked up, aware of the activity beyond the glass windows of Summer’s cubicle, in time to see the surgical team come past with a tiny, post-operative patient that had to be baby Liam. It was no surprise that the baby’s surgeon was still close by.
What was surprising enough to take Amy’s breath away was the way her heart seemed to stop and her skin come alive so that every cell tingled. The way she felt a connection to this man that went far deeper than any she had the right to feel.
They had shared a kiss, that was all.
One kiss.
It was nonsense to feel as though so much more than their lips had touched. As though their souls had made contact. Maybe it was the result of over-thinking, which was a trait Amy was sure she had inherited or learned from her mother. The ability to endlessly replay and examine tiny snatches of life. To experience them again and again. To analyse them and consider every possible repercussion.
The way Amy had done only last night after Luke had gone. As she’d lain, wakeful, in Uncle Vanni’s bed.
For a while she’d simply remembered—and missed—the person who’d been the most important man in her life for so many years. It had been a natural progression of her thoughts to realise that Uncle Vanni had, indirectly, been responsible for bringing a new man into her life.
Her mother would have probably proclaimed that it was meant to be and given thanks to some obscure saint.
Amy was fighting the same tiny voice in her own head that was saying the same thing. The one that was noting every reaction she had to Luke Harrington.
The one that was taunting her with the accusation that she was falling in love.
Amy had done her best to argue back.
Don’t be ridiculous. He’s from another planet.
He’s a man, the voice whispered back. You’re a woman.
He’s rich. Incredibly rich. I wouldn’t even know what spoon to use if he took me out to dinner.
But you want him to take you out to dinner.
No! It could never work.
Why not?
He’s important. I’m…nobody.
Really?
Not according to the way he judges people. I’m nothing. Just a nurse. He couldn’t even remember my name.
I’ll bet he remembers it now. After that kiss.
Ah, yes…That kiss.
And the voice had an argument compelling enough to almost obliterate any arguments Amy’s rational side could muster.
Remember what Margaret said? He’s lonely.
It struck something nameless and deep and Amy suspected that’s what the connection was all about. Yes, she and Luke came from totally different worlds and it might be far too great a challenge to understand and appreciate what was most important in each other’s lives, but that could be part of the connection because Luke might not even realise how lonely he was.
He obviously hadn’t had any idea his father had loved him and Amy wasn’t sure that her heartfelt story last night had convinced him. He needed convincing if she was going to change his mind about the house.
He also needed—as everyone did—to be loved.
And that was something that Amy did have. Surely the ability to love transcended the barriers of status and wealth?
At some point during the remaining hours of darkness and internal conversation, an idea had been born.
A plan.
And while Amy’s first objective in coming to Lizzie’s this afternoon had been to spend some time with Summer, she had also been planning to see Luke. To talk to him. To offer up her plan.
There was an awful lot resting on his acceptance of that plan, so it was no wonder she was nervous. No wonder that her heart tripped and accelerated when she saw him. Not that it could explain why it was so hard to look away from him but the eye contact didn’t last long enough to be an issue.
Luke was busy. She could see him supervising the transfer of the baby to the care of the unit staff. Consulting with the other specialists who came in. Making final adjustments to the life-support equipment and finally, taking a phone call.
When he caught her gaze on terminating the call, Amy had the horrible impression he had been aware of how often she had been looking in his direction. As though he had expected to make eye contact the second he had chosen to look her way.
Just as he expected her to respond to the subtle movement of his head that was an invitation to leave Summer’s side and join him.
‘Be back in a minute, sweetheart,’ she murmured. The reassurance was more for herself than Summer, who seemed to be sound asleep again.
Could Luke feel that disturbance in the air that intensified with every step closer that she took? A feeling of…awareness was the only description she could come up with. She was so aware of everything about this man.
She’d seen in him in scrubs before, of course, but this was completely different because this time it was in the wake of having been kissed by him. She knew how hard the muscles beneath the ill-fitting cotton were. She could see a swirl of dark hair in the deep V-neck of the tunic top. She could almost feel the air being moved as he sucked in a breath. Amy focused on his hand, lying lightly on the high counter in front of the nurses’ station. Long, elegant fingers drumming almost imperceptibly to denote, what? Impatience? Tension?
Maybe both, Amy decided, her gaze flicking up to note the fai
nt shadows under his eyes and the way the muscles of his jaw were bunched.
‘I called the transplant co-ordination centre first thing this morning,’ he told Amy. ‘I had to leave a message because it was too early, but they just called me back.’
Amy nodded. She couldn’t read whether the news was hopeful or not in his expression. Instead, she got the curious impression that he was watching her just as carefully.
‘Summer’s at the top of the list.’
‘Oh!’ Amy caught her breath. And held it, knowing that Luke had something more to say. She could see it. Like a tiny flame in the depths of his dark eyes.
A ray of hope.
‘There’s a child,’ Luke said quietly. ‘In Scotland. Glasgow’s Eastern Infirmary. She’s been in a coma for three weeks now and the parents are ready to consider organ donation. The latest EEG showed some activity, however, so she doesn’t yet meet the criteria for being a donor, but the activity has declined markedly since the last test. She’s showing signs of multi-system failure but they’re continuing life support in the hope that some good may come from it. They’re going to repeat the EEG later today.’
Amy could feel tears prickling. ‘The poor family! What a terrible ordeal for them.’
‘Sounds like it might be a release in some ways,’ Luke said steadily. ‘This girl has severe intellectual and physical disabilities. She had a seizure and knocked her head hard enough to cause this coma.’
‘Do you think…?’
‘She sounds like an ideal match.’ Luke nodded. ‘Same blood group. Good size of heart. She’s only a couple of years older than Summer. We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed that things come together. She could die from renal failure before her brain gives up. Or they may find the heart is not suitable when it’s harvested. You know the kind of things that can get in the way.’
Amy nodded but she was thinking of the child’s family. ‘It would be so hard, wouldn’t it? To have to send your child to Theatre when they were still on life support. Still breathing. If it was my child, I’d just want to hold it…’ Amy had to sniff and blink rather hard. ‘Sorry.’
Amy didn’t need Luke staring at her to know that her emotive response was both unprofessional and unhelpful.
‘Don’t be,’ was all he said, however. ‘These situations are emotional for everyone concerned.’
With the possible exception of himself? He seemed perfectly calm. Totally professional. Sympathetic but detached.
One of the unit staff came out of the office.
‘Your secretary just called, Mr Harrington. There’s someone in your office who’d like to see you if you have a minute to spare.’
Luke glanced at the wall clock. ‘Not really. We’re due to start again in Theatre in twenty minutes and I need to see the parents.’
‘It’s your grandmother,’ the clerk said.
‘Oh…’ The flicker of dark brows went up and then down and the frown made him look as though the surprise was not a pleasant one. ‘In that case…’ Luke gave Amy a somewhat curt nod. ‘We’ll talk later.’
She was being dismissed. Summer was forgotten for the moment and there was no chance of an opportunity to present her plan. Or even to tell him that the tyre repair firm that he must have organised had been to deal with his car. It was frustrating enough to make Amy have to resist the impulse to follow Luke from the unit. She wanted time with him. Alone.
She also looked at the clock. If Luke was due in Theatre in twenty minutes and he wanted a few minutes to reassure his patient’s parents, he would probably only allow five to ten minutes to talk to his visitor. If she timed it just right, Amy could catch him as he left his office and she could, at least, ask for an appointment to speak to him later.
They needed to talk about the house. He’d said so himself more than once and it hadn’t happened yet. They had been sidetracked by those ‘other things’.
Amy sat with Summer for a few more minutes. She was still sleeping peacefully. She caught the attention of Summer’s nurse.
‘If she wakes up, can you tell her I’ll be back soon? I’ve just got a message to run.’
‘Sure.’
Unaware of the determined expression on her face, Amy left the unit and headed towards Luke Harrington’s office.
‘Grandmother!’ Luke shut the door of his office behind him. ‘This is a surprise!’
‘I was in the city for lunch.’ Lady Prudence Harrington sat, ramrod straight, in the chair in front of his desk. She tilted her cheek for a customary greeting. ‘With Reginald and Lucy Battersby and her brother.’
‘At Barkers?’ Automatically, Luke bent to brush a kiss to the papery cheek. Reginald’s brother-in-law owned a department store that rivalled Harrod’s.
‘Of course.’
Luke didn’t sit down. ‘I haven’t much time, I’m sorry. I’m due back in Theatre.’
‘So I see.’ The smile was tolerant. ‘It’s acceptable, is it? To be seen in public wearing pyjamas?’
‘These are scrubs,’ Luke said. ‘You’ve seen surgeons on television.’
‘I don’t watch television. You know that, Luke.’
‘Yes.’ Luke had to resist looking at his office clock. ‘Is something wrong? You never come to the hospital. You’re not unwell in any way, are you?’
‘Not at all. I’m as fit as a fiddle. As I said, I’ve just had lunch with the Battersbys and I had to come past on my way home so I got Henry to drop me off at the front door. A nice young woman at Reception told me where I could find your office. I think we need to have a talk, Luke.’
Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘But I’m coming to see you tomorrow.’
There was a moment’s silence and Luke noticed the way his grandmother was twisting the gloves she had taken off. It gave the impression the old woman was nervous. Surely not.
‘Why didn’t you tell me, Luke?’ Prudence spoke in a very uncharacteristic rush. ‘About that house?’
‘Oh…’ Luke leaned back against his desk, hooking up one leg, his eyes narrowing a little as he focused on his grandmother. ‘Yes. The house. Giovanni Moretti’s house.’
Amy’s house.
‘Reginald tells me it’s being used as some kind of orphanage. That you’re planning to demolish it. That you intend evicting these people immediately.’
Luke said nothing.
‘That would be wrong, Luke. Especially at Christmastime. Unless better accommodation can be found, of course. I think I can help. Lucy and I were talking about it and we decided—’
‘Grandmother,’ Luke interrupted. He kept his voice low. Calm and collected. There was no point in upsetting someone he respected and loved. His only family, in fact. And he had to give her the benefit of the doubt. Lying was dishonourable and it was not something the Harringtons ever did. ‘Did my father ever try to find me?’ he asked. ‘Did he come to the village? To our house, even?’
‘What makes you ask such a thing?’
‘It’s what his niece told me when I went to the house yesterday.’
Prudence went pale. Luke could see what little colour she had fading rapidly, and for a horrible moment he thought he was about to witness his grandmother collapsing.
‘You went to the house? You spoke to a…a cousin?’
‘Not exactly.’ Amy was distantly related in some fashion but it wasn’t that close. Not close enough to be any kind of obstacle.
An obstacle to what, precisely?
Luke had to shake the distracting thought away. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’
The soft, kid gloves were being strangled. ‘You have to understand, Luke. It was a terribly difficult time.’
‘He did come, didn’t he?’
‘Twice. The second time he came with a policeman, but he still had no right to trespass. Henry dealt with him.’
Henry. The devoted chauffeur and maintenance man who was married to Elaine, Harrington Manor’s housekeeper. A man who would say or do anything his employer requested.
‘And the first time? Was that when you told him I was dead?’
It was his grandmother’s turn to be silent. To wait for what was clearly coming.
‘You told me my father didn’t care about me. That I meant nothing to him. That you were the only family I had or needed.’
‘No.’ Prudence shook her head. She looked suddenly much more than her eighty-seven years. She looked old and so frail Luke felt a twinge of guilt for confronting her. ‘I never said that.’
‘You let me believe it.’
‘It was for your own sake. For all our sakes. Can’t you see that, Luke?’
She kept using his name and it was starting to sound strangely formal. Cold, even.
Luca…
‘It was wrong,’ Luke said heavily. ‘You denied me my father, but I was too young to remember him or know what I was missing. What was worse was denying a father his son.’
‘It was for your own sake,’ Prudence repeated. ‘He would have taken you away, Luke. To live in poverty in a foreign country. Your education would have been inadequate at best. You wouldn’t be the person you are today. I only wanted what was best for you. You. My grandson. The only person who is going to carry the Harrington name forward.’
A sensation akin to horror was crawling on Luke’s skin. The enormity of what had been done, albeit with the best of intentions. A man’s life had been cruelly damaged and—It was true, he might not have become who he was if things had been different.
‘Are you not happy with the life you’ve had, Luke?’ His grandmother was rallying now. Gathering her pride as she convinced herself, yet again, that she had done what had been only right and proper. ‘You’ve had the best of everything. You’re successful and important. I’m very, very proud of you.’
She was. She was also a strong, proud woman who had been fiercely independent since being widowed when her only child had been young. For the first time Luke had an inkling of how important he had been to her. The only link to a beloved husband and daughter. Without him in her life, she would now be a very lonely old woman, living virtually alone in an isolated mausoleum of a family home.
The Italian Surgeon's Christmas Miracle Page 9
