‘Of course not.’
‘I left Richard,’ she stated firmly. ‘I left him three months after we lost our daughter and on the day that he signed me up for gym membership. The very same day that he brought home a brochure about Botox injections and having my mole ‘‘painlessly and skilfully’’ removed.’ Rachael gave a cynical snort. ‘Perhaps it was one of yours.’
‘It was probably one of Dr Fielding’s. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have to advertise.’ He flashed a smile. ‘My reputation precedes me.’
‘Oh, you don’t understand,’ she said irritably, but Hugh wasn’t about to be brushed aside.
‘Don’t you think I meet enough Richards in a day’s work? Men who want their wives looking the part, women having surgery to please their partners?’
A deep breath gave her the courage to answer. They weren’t at work now, and it wasn’t a nurse questioning a doctor. ‘But you operate on those women, Hugh, you make a living on women’s insecurities.’
His face darkened, and Rachael wondered if she hadn’t gone just a bit to far as he leant across the table his voice low and curt. ‘No, Rachael, I don’t.’
‘Look at Hailey,’ Rachael argued. ‘Try and tell me she wasn’t doing it to please Gary.’
‘She wasn’t,’ Richard stated simply, and as he saw the disbelieving look Rachael threw across the table he repeated it again more forcibly. ‘She wasn’t. In fact, her husband tried to talk her out of it, but Hailey had it in her head that was what she wanted. For years apparently she’d sworn it was going to be her fortieth birthday present to herself, once the kids were all at school, she wanted to do something just for herself. Gary was beside himself with worry when she ended up staying in a week with a chest infection.’
‘OK, then,’ Rachael relented. ‘Bad example. But surely most of your patients—?’
‘What about Kelvin?’ Hugh interrupted. ‘Or burns victims or people who have gone through a windscreen and somehow lived to suffer the consequences? It’s not all about vanity. I do charity work as well.’
Rachael gave another cynical snort. ‘What, for housewives whose private health cover has run out?’ Looking up, Rachael instantly regretted what had spilled from her mouth. She could see the hurt in his face, hear the horrible, brittle harshness of her words. Berating herself, she longed to take it back, longed for the days when the world hadn’t hurt quite so much, when the good had outweighed the bad, for the days when she’d actually known how to treat a friend.
‘You’re out of line, Rachael.’ There was an authoritarian tone to his voice, a tiny but intriguing glimpse of a man who most definitely wasn’t a pushover, a man who was only too willing to stand up for what he believed. And for the first time Rachael realised that it wasn’t just by some sort of fluke that she had ended up here with Hugh. This was a man who only went where he wanted to go, who didn’t suffer fools gladly.
‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered.
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Leaning back on his seat, Hugh took a sip of wine and shelled a few nuts as she squirmed uncomfortably.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, a hollow laugh ringing across the table. ‘I seem to have forgotten how to be polite.’ And despite the sudden drop in temperature, despite the definite dive in ambience, she was grateful. Grateful for a man who stood his ground, someone who wasn’t prepared to make allowances, to shrug and put her moods down to hormones, someone who was prepared to reel her in when she went too far. ‘Tell me about your charity work.’
Hugh shook his head. ‘Another time perhaps, when you’re not just being ‘‘polite’’.’
‘Please, Hugh, I am interested, honestly, and I am sorry.’
‘Better not.’ He gave her a smile that told her she was forgiven. ‘It’s one of those pet subjects of mine. If I start now, the waiters will be stacking the chairs on the tables and vacuuming around our feet by the time I’ve finished. I’m not going to apologise for my work, Rachael, I’m not going to defend what I do, but I will tell you this. If I even get a hint that my patient is in to please someone else, I refer them for counselling or simply refuse to do it.’
‘Then surely they’d just go somewhere else?’ Suitably chastised, the argumentative tone had gone from Rachael’s voice now, but her feelings on the subject remained equivocal.
‘Not always. Look, I don’t come cheap. Most of my patients are rich enough that they want the best.’ He flashed that dangerous smile again and without a hint of modesty he carried on talking. ‘I’m one of the best, and if I say no, sometimes that’s enough. I say it nicely, massage their egos a bit, tell them that they’re perfect as they are. Come on,’ he insisted with a smile. ‘Admit it, Rachael, you actually do have a hang-up with plastics patients.’
‘I don’t,’ Rachael insisted. ‘I’m a nurse. I’m there to look after people, not question their reasons for being there.’
‘OK, then. But don’t sit there and try to deny that you don’t have a problem with the doctors who operate on them.’
Rachael shrugged. A grudging nod was all the answer he was going to get.
‘Can I ask why?’
‘I know you do great work,’ Rachael started. ‘I saw it with my own eyes today after all, but the cosmetic side of it, operating on people so they conform to society’s ‘‘rules’’ …’ She fiddled with her glass, aware she wasn’t making the most eloquent argument, and also, despite her passionate feelings on the subject, surprisingly loath to criticise him again. ‘It just all seems a touch narcissistic.’
‘Possibly.’ It was Hugh that shrugged now. ‘But that’s the world we live in, Rachael. Do you know why I went into plastics?’
‘Oh, I can think of a few reasons.’ Rachael picked up his car keys and held them on one finger. ‘Fast cars, good food, beautiful women.’
Hugh laughed loudly, completely unruffled. ‘I’d have had all that anyway, without doing plastics.’ He leant back in his chair again, rocking slightly as he did so, staring at her unashamedly. ‘My playboy status is hereditary, I’m afraid. You’ll have to guess again.’
‘I can’t.’ Rachael answered irritated. So he had bags of money, loads of charm and he was a doctor to boot. Couldn’t he at least have one small fault?
‘Nobody dies.’
‘Sorry?’ For a second Rachael thought she must have misheard him.
‘You’re looking at a doctor who cried his eyes out all through medical school,’ Hugh said in that snobby, gorgeous voice.
‘Rubbish.’
‘Maybe a slight exaggeration, but my student days and internship were like hell on earth for me. The lectures I could deal with, but you should have seen me on the wards.’ He shook his head, half laughing at the memory. ‘Most days I would have given it all up right there and then—in fact, if I’d had my way, I’d have been tossing burgers at the local burger bar now.’
‘So how come you stuck it out?’
‘My father had decided I was going to be a doctor from the moment of conception and there was no way he was going to let me give up that easily.’
‘Didn’t you want to do medicine?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Hugh answered with a definite nod. ‘I was one of those kids with his nose permanently stuck in a book, or in the science lab—a real nerd, actually.’
‘Don’t try and go for the sympathy vote, Hugh,’ Rachael said with a wry smile. ‘No doubt you were the best-looking nerd in the school?’
‘Possibly,’ he conceded with a grin. ‘But all those books, all those exams, all that work—none of it made up for hands-on experience, and my first day on the wards this old woman—Vera was her name—died, just like that, right in front of me. It completely freaked me out. I can’t even begin to tell you how badly I reacted. If you ever hear someone passing on a story about a medical student with a face like chalk, knocking over water jugs on his way out of the ward, you’ll know they’re talking about me. It was a nightmare and I knew there and then I was in over my head.’
&n
bsp; Rachael was laughing now, really laughing. He told such a great story, his features so animated she could almost see Hugh as a spotty nineteen-year-old student. ‘And that was just the start of it. I was a nervous wreck by the time I’d finished my internship, avoiding anyone over ninety, begging mates to fill in for me …’ He gave a small shudder. ‘Then I discovered plastics—it was like discovering paradise. Right at the end of my rotation I landed in Theatre, completely by chance, with one of the best plastics consultants in the business.’
Rachael was intrigued now, her laughter fading as she saw the serious look on his face. Her gin down to the last inch, she leant closer, listening intently.
‘You know how you felt when you saw Kelvin’s lip come together?’
Rachael nodded.
‘It was like that only a thousand times better. The mathematics behind it, working with the body, moulding what’s already there …’ He gave an apologetic smile. ‘I could go on for hours here. What I guess it all comes down to is that I get to be the good guy, Rachael.’
‘But some of your patients are sick,’ Rachael said thoughtfully. ‘Burns victims and the like.’
‘Not by the time they get to me. Oh, sure, there’s the odd one, but as a rule I specialise in cosmetic repairs. I come in at the end when they’ve been to hell and back and I get to do the good bit. It’s a nice feeling.’
Her drink was finished now. Placing the glass on the table, she managed a watery smile. ‘I’ll ask the waiter to call a taxi.’
‘Why? When I said a drink I didn’t mean literally. I’m sure I can stretch to another.’
‘Who’s just being polite now?’
Hugh laughed as she sat there, rigid.
‘What on earth gave you that idea?’
‘As you’ve already pointed out, I can’t be bothered with social niceties. I don’t really know what you were expecting from tonight, but a fun drink and cosy chat just isn’t me at the moment. I also know that I’ve been rude about your work so let’s just call it a night.’
He stood up and though it was Rachael who was ending the evening the stab of disappointment that hit her took her back somewhat. She had expected him to at least put up a token protest. He came around to her chair and she went to stand, expecting him to move it out for her. Instead, he lowered his head, his deep voice so close she could feel his warm breath on her ear.
‘The night’s still young, Rachael. I’m going to the gents, and by the time I get back I expect you to have chosen what you want to eat.’ His face was still there, his breath still doing the strangest things to her taut neck. ‘OK?’
Without turning, she gave a simple nod. ‘On one condition.’
‘Name it.’
Her face moved, just a fraction but enough to view that delicious mouth so achingly close. ‘Wash off some of that aftershave.’
A lazy smile, so subtle it was barely there, ghosted across his lips as he rose to his full height and left.
Sitting alone at the table, there wasn’t much else to do but read the menu, and she realised as she licked her lips that tonight had been engineered by Hugh right down to the last detail. He knew that one glimpse at such a divine menu and she’d have no choice but to stay, and if Morton Bay risotto hadn’t been on the menu she’d have definitely asked the waiter to call a taxi right there and then. Come to think of it, the mocha ice cream with bitter chocolate sauce might have been a deciding factor as well.
‘Have you chosen?’
Green eyes were smiling at her, that gorgeous, huge yet beautifully proportioned body was lowering itself into the chair and Rachael gave in. The only person she was kidding here was herself. It could have been butter beans and Brussels sprouts on the menu and she’d have forced it down.
Hugh Connell was divine.
CHAPTER SIX
‘DID he kiss you?’
‘Helen!’ Rachael said indignantly, kicking the office door closed. ‘Stop going on about it.’
‘About what?’ Helen said innocently. ‘Trevor saw you leaving together, and from the way you’re blushing you didn’t say goodbye at the car park.’
‘We did, actually.’ It was worth a try.
‘So how come when Trevor looked out of the window you were climbing into his car?’
‘He gave me a lift because my car was being serviced.’ There was no way Helen was going to leave it there—she’d put Rachael on the rack if she had to. ‘We just stopped for a drink.’
‘And something to eat?’
‘A quick dinner,’ Rachael snapped. ‘Happy now?’
‘Did he kiss you?’
‘No.’
‘Come on, Rachael.’
Sinking into one of the chairs, Rachael pursed her lips. ‘He honestly didn’t.’
‘But did you want him to?’ Helen asked perceptively as Rachael picked at a stray piece of thread on her trousers.
‘No,’ she said, then slumped back dejectedly. ‘But I wanted him to at least try. And if you ever tell a living soul even part of this conversation …’
Helen shook her head. ‘I don’t gossip.’
‘Please.’ The sarcasm was dripping off Rachael’s tongue.
‘I don’t. It’s because I’m fat and maternal-looking that people tell me the strangest things. I’d never pass them on, though.’
Rachael started to smiled but it died halfway. ‘Why didn’t he kiss me, Helen? We got on so well, admittedly after a bit of a shaky start, but by the time we’d had dinner and everything it was going wonderfully. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much in my life, and it wasn’t just me enjoying myself. I’m positive Hugh was having a nice time, positive there was something in the air.’
‘Something like romance?’
Rachael gave a reluctant nod. ‘I thought I’d at least get a small kiss goodnight.’
‘Now, correct me if I’m wrong,’ Helen started. ‘Didn’t you say that the last thing you want right now is a relationship?’
‘I did,’ Rachael sighed. ‘And if this is the type of angst it’s going to cause I can see why. Helen, everything tells me that I’m crazy to even be considering one.’
‘Everything except your heart,’ Helen said perceptively.
‘There’s a million and one reasons why I should run a mile. I’ve just come out of a bad marriage, just lost …’ Rachael swallowed hard. ‘He’s a plastic surgeon, for heaven’s sake! A plastic surgeon who drives a sports car and uses five-star restaurants like they’re the local burger bar.’
‘He’s not Richard.’ Helen put a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. ‘Is that where this is heading, Rachael? Is that’s what’s worrying you?’
‘No!’ Rachael shook her head vehemently then changed it to a reluctant nod midway. ‘Possibly. I honestly don’t know. Am I just setting myself up for another fall again?’
‘He’s not Richard.’ Helen said again. ‘And I’ll tell you why in one little word—class. Hugh’s got everything that Richard wants, but the big difference is that Hugh knows what to do with it.’
‘It doesn’t matter anyway,’ Rachael muttered. ‘He made it very clear romance wasn’t on the agenda when he drove me home. Everything was going really well. He’d paid the bill, we went for a walk along the river …’
‘Then what?’
‘He just changed. We got in the car, and Hugh was just different all of a sudden. He was still nice and everything, still friendly.’ Rachael gave a low laugh. ‘That’s the problem, actually. Suddenly that’s all it was—friendly. Maybe it was just a drink after all, maybe I’m reading too much into it.’
‘You’ve only known each other a few days,’ Helen reasoned. ‘Maybe he didn’t want to rush things.’
‘Perhaps,’ Rachael agreed, but the doubt was evident in her voice. ‘I can’t explain this, Helen. I know it’s only been a few days, and I can’t believe I’m feeling like this.’ She shook her head, bemused. ‘I honestly can’t believe it.’
‘Hugh’s not stupid.’ Helen watched R
achael frown. ‘After all, the fact he didn’t kiss you made you realise that you actually wanted him to. Maybe he knows how burnt you’ve been and that you need to take things slowly.’
‘Then again, he probably realised halfway through the evening what a mistake he’d made in asking me out.’
‘You’re an idiot,’ Helen said as the telephone rang, her tone changing back to the efficient ward sister as she chatted for a moment then hung up the receiver. ‘Mrs Cosgrove’s ready to come back from Theatre.’ The friendly chat was over, the patients rightly taking precedence now. ‘I wish she’d gone to a high-dependency bed post-operatively. If she’d had her operation tomorrow as scheduled there wouldn’t have been a problem.’
‘Dr Khan said if he waited until tomorrow it might have been too late. He’s pretty sure that her new pain is caused by some gangrenous bowel.’
‘Poor old dear. Well, if you need a hand just call, and make sure you don’t bring her back from Theatre until she’s stable.’
‘OK.’ Rachael stood up and as she opened her mouth Helen beat her to it.
‘I won’t say a word.’
Recovery was a busy place, and Rachael slipped in pretty much unnoticed.
‘I’m here to collect Sheila Cosgrove.’
‘Sorry.’ Helga, the theatre nurse, didn’t look up as she took Sheila’s obs. ‘I tried to ring the ward but you’d already left. Her blood pressure just dropped a fraction. I’m going to ask Dr Khan to review her again before we send her back. He shouldn’t be long if you want to wait.’
‘Sure.’ Perching herself on a stool at the head of the bed, Rachael spoke gently to Sheila who was still very groggy from her anaesthetic. ‘Sheila, it’s Rachael, from the ward. We’re going to take you back and get you into bed very soon. It’s all done now.’ A pale hand slipped out from the swaddle of blankets and Rachael held it, knowing how terrified Sheila had been in the days preceding her operation.
Rachael liked the recovery ward—in fact, she liked the whole theatre package. There was something almost hallowed about Theatre people wheeled in unconscious, healed and wheeled out again, the staff dressed in their blues with their ridiculous hats and clogs. It held a morbid fascination for her. Here mortal miracles really happened; here the surgeons played God and the staff watched with a reverent fascination.
The Surgeon’s Gift Page 6
