The Surgeon’s Gift

by Carol Marinelli

  She needed to be alone, needed just a tiny breathing space to digest all that had happened. The only thing was, Rachael realised too late as she climbed the lonely stairs to bed, watching Hugh leave had been the hardest part of the day.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘YOU wanted to see me?’ Rachael grinned as she walked into the office and saw Helen calmly sitting with her feet up, eating a massive doughnut as she read a pamphlet on liposuction.

  ‘Have you seen these pamphlets?’ Helen asked, totally ignoring the question. ‘They can do all sorts, you know. Apparently Dr Fielding is one of the best at liposuction—they just suck all the fat away and once it’s gone it doesn’t come back.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Rachael scoffed. ‘Nothing’s that easy. So what did you want me for?’

  ‘You know how we’ve got a few empty beds? Well, the nurse co-ordinator found out and she wants an RN to go and help in Outpatients.’ She watched as Rachael pulled an unpleasant face. ‘To help with the Dr Connell’s clinic,’ she added with a satisfied smile as Rachael face instantly perked up. ‘Can I say that you’ll do it? It’s just blood pressures and a few dressing changes.’

  ‘Sure. Oh, and, Helen, you know we’ve got that overseas patient coming in this afternoon?’

  ‘Kimbi?’

  ‘That’s the one. Can I be allocated to look after her? It’s not for that,’ she said quickly as Helen gave a wink. ‘Hugh was talking about her at the fundraiser and it sounds really interesting. I’d love to nurse her.’

  ‘Deal.’ Helen laughed. ‘If you could see your face. You always frown when you’re telling fib, it’s a dead give-away.’

  ‘I’m useless at lying,’ Rachael mumbled. ‘Still, I really am interested.’

  ‘You can get rid of all those lines, you know,’ Helen started, but Rachael gave a dismissive flick of her hand.

  ‘I just spent yesterday with Richard. I don’t need a lecture from you,’ she warned.

  ‘Well, look at this, then.’ Helen rummaged through the piles of brochures. ‘Botox injections, you can have them done in your lunch-break.’ Curiosity got the better of Rachael and she picked up a leaflet, pulling her face into curious angles as she felt the frown lines on her brow.

  ‘It takes ten years off. I’m getting it done.’

  ‘Your not serious.’ Rachael laughed.

  ‘Absolutely. Four children, five if you include Jack, plus full-time nursing—I reckon I deserve a treat.’

  Hugh, of course, had to walk in as Helen and Rachael were peering into hand mirrors, pulling their faces into all sorts of weird expressions.

  ‘Did the co-ordinator tell you I needed a nurse?’

  ‘They did.’ Helen beamed, not remotely embarrassed. ‘And here she is. Hugh, you’re not interested in hosting my party, are you?’ She gave a quick wink to Rachael to show she was joking. ‘Apparently Botox has taken over Tupperware, I’m thinking of throwing a party.’

  ‘Well, don’t invite any nurses from Theatre,’ Hugh uncharacteristically snapped. ‘An impassive face above a mask might be the difference between a right and left hip being fixed. We rely on those little frowns down there.

  ‘Anyway,’ he added impatiently, gesturing to Rachael to follow him as he picked up a pile of files, ‘you’ll have to get Dr Fielding. In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t do Botox injections.’

  Rachael almost had to run to keep up with him as he marched smartly down the corridor. She knew he was upset, knew he was a bit bruised and put out, but perhaps more pointedly Rachael understood why. They had made love, wonderful breathtaking love, over and over, and then Richard had turned up. Hugh had said and done all the right things—come back, held her, loved her—and she had dismissed him.

  No wonder he wasn’t at his sunniest.

  But that night alone had done wonders for her, given her the chance to think, really think things through. It was over with Richard.

  It was Hugh she loved and she didn’t care who knew it.

  Rachael was also rather too painfully aware that for the most part he had seen only the darker side of her. Fun she could be, flirty too if that was what it took to get a smile on his face.

  Hugh deserved a break.

  Mind you, there was only so much fun to be had in an outpatients clinic, and as for flirting, forget it. If she had thought cosmetic surgery was glamorous, one morning spent with tragically scarred people soon put paid to that. Hugh worked like a trojan and Rachael fared not much better.

  ‘That’s about it,’ he said eventually, snapping his lid on his pen. ‘Thanks for your help.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Rachael beamed. ‘Look, Hugh, about last night, thanks for being there.’

  ‘I wasn’t there,’ he pointed out. ‘You asked me to leave.’

  ‘I meant before that.’ Rachael said quickly. ‘I’ve been doing some thinking, a lot of thinking actually, and I was wrong to ask you to leave last night. I only really realised it after you’d left.’ Her words seemed to mollify him slightly and she let out a sigh of relief as he placed the pen back on his desk. ‘I haven’t blown it, have I? I mean, you’re not so sick of me and my dramas you’re about to turn tail and run?’

  ‘All this time,’ he said slowly, ‘I’ve been so worried about you, Rachael. Trying to work out how to make things easier for you, trying to be sure that I don’t hurt you further.’ He let out a long ragged breath. ‘Maybe I’m the one who’s going to end up hurt.’

  ‘It’s over with Richard,’ she said firmly. ‘It always has been. I only let him in yesterday because of—’

  ‘Amy.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Another thing that’s out of bounds.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You won’t let me in, Rachael,’ Hugh said wearily, the pain evident in his voice. ‘I know it might be too soon and maybe I’m expecting too much, but I know how I feel, Rachael, I’ve known more or less since the day I met you. And I can’t just have half of you. I don’t want to be sent away again. I want to be there with you, for the bad times as well as the good. It’s up to you,’ he finished. ‘I can’t do this by halves.’

  He stood up to go and Rachael simply couldn’t bear it, didn’t want the morning to end on that note.

  ‘Don’t go,’ she called.

  ‘It’s lunchtime, I’m hungry.’

  ‘I grabbed these in my coffee-break.’ She held up two Cellophane-wrapped sandwiches at which Hugh promptly turned up his nose.

  ‘I’m going to the doctors’ mess to eat.’

  ‘Who’s the one walking off now?’ Hugh stopped walking but Rachael still sensed his reluctance to stay. ‘I hear what you’re saying, Hugh, and I really do understand, but can we just leave it for a while? Can we just enjoy our lunch?’

  ‘Enjoy lunch?’ he said, his lips twitching at the edges. ‘What’s that going to solve?’

  ‘Nothing probably,’ she said brightly. ‘Except for the fact that I like being with you.’

  She had definitely hit the mark because those gorgeous lips spread into a reluctant smile and Rachael moved quickly, determined they would have this brief lunch together.

  ‘Show me how this works,’ she said quickly, gesturing, partly for something to say and also because for the entire morning it had fascinated her.

  ‘It’s just a simulator.’

  ‘So show me how it works.’

  With a sigh he sat down, clicking with the mouse until his face appeared on the screen. ‘I use it to show patients how they might look after surgery.’ He fiddled more with the mouse, shaving an inch off his jaw line, snubbing the end of his nose. ‘Have a go if you like.’

  Nervously she took the mouse, staring at his image on the screen as he guided her around the toolbox. ‘Off you go,’ he said lightly.

  But she couldn’t do it. His face was so perfect, so absolutely right it would be like taking a hammer to the statue of David. She made a couple of pathetic attempts at his nose and amputated his eyelids. By the time she had fi
nished he looked like the potato-man toy her nephew played with.

  ‘Do me,’ she said quickly as he went to pick up his pager.

  ‘I’m in a rush.’

  ‘Come on,’ she pleaded in what she hoped was a sort of happy, flirty voice, anything to end the morning on a lighter note. Slipping onto the stool in front of the camera, she waited as he clicked away.

  ‘OK, you’re up,’ Hugh said. His voice was thick, his breathing slightly ragged as she leant over his shoulder.

  ‘Go on, then,’ Rachael urged. ‘Transform me.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Come off it, Hugh, what do you think I want you to do? Get rid of it.’

  ‘Rid of what?’

  ‘This.’ She tapped impatiently at her cheek. ‘This damned mole. Don’t try and pretend you haven’t noticed it.’

  ‘Of course I’ve noticed it. I happen to like it.’

  ‘Sure,’ Rachael muttered, watching as he dragged the mouse over her left cheek. ‘Go on,’ she urged, wondering why on earth he was taking so long. She had been watching him all morning, clicking away with lightning speed, and yet he was taking an age to remove a tiny mole.

  ‘There,’ he said finally, leaning back in his chair. ‘Happy now?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said slowly, staring incredulously at her image. In the scheme of things it was such a tiny blemish, such a small thing, yet this mole had been the bane of her life. What had felt like merciless teasing—‘What’s on your face, Rachael?’—still rang in her ears from the second form, and her clumsy attempts to cover the thing with concealer weren’t a particularly distant memory. Even though Richard’s timing had been appalling, having it removed wasn’t something she hadn’t already considered. So here she was.

  Moleless or whatever the technical term was.

  ‘Can you do it? I mean, will you take it off for me?’

  ‘Before or after the Botox injections?’

  ‘That was a joke.’ Rachael laughed but it died on her lips when she saw the look on his face. ‘Hugh, it was a joke,’ she insisted.

  ‘For someone who’s so opposed to cosmetic surgery, you seem terribly interested all of a sudden.’

  ‘I’m just looking at your machine. Heavens, I’m surrounded by it every day at work, it would be neglectful of me not to be interested.’

  ‘So it has nothing to do with the fact your ex-husband’s back on the scene, this sudden desire for eternal youth.’

  ‘If you’d known me in my teenage years,’ Rachael retorted smartly, ‘then you’d know I’ve absolutely no desire to relive them. I had a face full of spots and braces you could wire a house with, and, no, this has absolutely nothing to do with Richard. This is to do with me.’

  ‘Well, I won’t do it.’

  ‘I’m not after a freebie,’ she retorted nastily.

  ‘It wouldn’t be appropriate,’ he bit back in an almost prim voice.

  ‘It’s a tiny mole, for heaven’s sake,’ Rachael argued, wondering just where this row had flown in from, wondering how it had all gone so horribly wrong and utterly determined not to back down. ‘I’m not asking for a face lift.’

  ‘We’re involved, Rachael. Ethically speaking, it wouldn’t be right for me to operate on you.’

  ‘If we’re so involved, Hugh, why are you picking up your stethoscope? Why are you heading off to the doctors’ mess instead of sharing you lunch with me?’ She took a deep breath, anger blurring her senses, hurt that he was leaving and determined to hit back. ‘Do you know what I think?’

  ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘But I’m sure you’re about to tell me.’

  ‘I think you only like me when I’m down.’ She watched as he turned, knew she was way out of line with her spiteful words but she couldn’t stop herself. It was the sort of row that should only be had in a bedroom, preferably when there was no means of escape, no car in the drive or pager that could go off, when silly spiteful things could be taken back in the fullness of time, or put right in bed, but she was too angry to acknowledge the warning bells that were alarming in her head.

  ‘Don’t I cry enough for you, Hugh? It seems to me that the second I assert myself or actually look like I’m enjoying myself, you don’t like it. Do you like your women emotionally needy, Hugh?’

  ‘That’s the most vile thing you could have said.’ His lips were white and a muscle pounded in his cheek. ‘I’ll tell you how I like my women, Rachael, warm and loving and tender, not hankering over their ex-husband, not pushing me away when I try to get close. I’m going to the doctors’ mess, and before you accuse me of walking away I’ll tell you why I’m going. For one thing, the food’s better.’ He tossed the sandwich into a wastepaper basket before turning smartly on his heel. ‘And, frankly, so is the company.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  KIMBI was gorgeous.

  One look at those velvety brown eyes and that slow, shy smile and Rachael knew why Hugh’s voice had wavered slightly when he had spoken about her. If ever there was a patient to put Rachael’s troubles into perspective, Kimbi was the one.

  Through the words of the translator Rachael learned of her horrific injuries, the twelve operations she had endured in the past two years, heard from her mother how grateful they were for the chance for their daughter to live a normal life.

  ‘She likes to dance,’ Jelai the translator said with a smile. ‘And she tells me that now she talks the most in her class. She makes up for lost time,’ Jelai said with a small note of triumph.

  ‘Wonderful.’ Rachael smiled. ‘Could you tell her that I’m just going to take her blood pressure and temperature and then I’ll page Dr Connell and let him know that she’s here.’

  At just the mention of Hugh’s name Kimbi, her mother and the translator seemed to brighten.

  Rachael, too.

  She longed to see him, longed for the chance to apologise, but not here. Later, tonight, she would try and take back the things she had said, give him a chance to explain his sudden change of mood.

  Pulling up Kimbi’s gown, Rachael frowned slightly. Unfortunately, it didn’t go unnoticed by Jelai and the thought of those wretched Botox injections suddenly seemed like a good idea.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Jelai was watching her like a hawk.

  ‘Kimbi has a rather large bruise on her arm.’

  A couple of minutes’ talk was translated back into one short sentence. ‘She banged her arm, carrying water.’

  Rachael nodded but she felt far from reassured. The bruise was dark, large and the fact it seemed to have gone relatively unnoticed bothered her. Popping the tympanic thermometer into Kimbi’s ear, the reading was delivered in less than a second. This time Rachael kept a check on her features, deliberately not commenting when she saw the low-grade temperature reading.

  ‘Apart from the bruise, has Kimbi been well recently?’

  Another prolonged conversation took place as Rachael sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the musical language.

  ‘She has a sore throat.’

  ‘I see.’ Gently she pulled down Kimbi’s lower eyelids, noticing the pallor not so readily visible in someone with darker skin.

  ‘Right, I’ll just give Dr Connell a page. Can I get you ladies anything—a drink or some sandwiches? Kimbi’s not scheduled for Theatre until tomorrow so she can eat as well.’

  She didn’t get up to go, knowing the simple question would take a moment to answer.

  More than a moment actually. Kimbi rummaged in her locker, pulling out menus as a rather elaborate conversation took place with a lot of hand waving. The translation when it came was strangely disappointing.

  ‘No, thank you. We are all just fine.’

  ‘The call bell’s here.’ Placing it on the table in front of her patient, Rachael took a moment to go explain the rather complicated device, realising that when Kimbi had last been here she had been on the old ward.

  ‘Lights, television, nurse call bell,’ she said, as Kimbi practised pre
ssing all three, the television springing into life, the lights blazing on around them as Rachael’s little orange pager duly sprang into life. ‘You’ve got it.’

  ‘Sister,’ Jelai called her as she went to go. ‘Dr Connell shares a pizza with us tonight. Please, can we cancel Kimbi’s dinner order? It would be shameful to waste the food.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Well, there went her cosy dinner and chance to apologise. It looked like Hugh was booked up.

  Hugh was in Theatre, of course, and it took an age for him to answer. His words were curt and Rachael knew it had nothing to do with keeping it short for the sake of the theatre sister’s arm.

  ‘Tell her I’ll be along after my list.’

  ‘She’s ordering pizza for you.’

  He didn’t even grace her with a small laugh.

  ‘Hugh …’

  Even though he was two floors up and a long corridor away, she felt him tense. ‘Not now, Rachael.’

  ‘It’s not about us.’ Rachael swallowed, utterly unable to resist fishing a little. ‘Assuming, of course, that there is an us?’ Again no answer, no clue as to what he was thinking. ‘It’s about Kimbi.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘She’s got a low-grade temp and a sore throat, and Hugh, she looks ever so pale.’

  ‘She’s probably got a cold, and egg and steaks aren’t exactly a regular dish where she’s from.’

  ‘She’s very pale,’ Rachael insisted.

  ‘She always is. Normally I get the dietician to take a look at her. She’ll probably need some food supplements while she’s here.’

  ‘There’s a large bruise on her arm.’

  She heard his pause, felt him tense again, but when his voice came it was light and easy. ‘She lives a hard life, Rachael. I’ll take a look when I’m up there—it will be nothing.’

  ‘Hugh …’ She waited for a response and when it didn’t come she said it anyway. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She heard him mumble to the theatre sister, heard the click of the telephone hanging up, and standing for a moment holding the purring receiver, Rachel whispered the words again. ‘I’m sorry, Hugh.’