Heart Surgeon in Portugal (23 page)

‘Never discuss a patient’s condition in front of them, even if they’re unconscious or in a coma. They may be able to hear, we don’t know.’

As a trained nurse Ellie knew this perfectly well but she nodded politely in deference to the other’s seniority and religious calling.

‘Teresa’s been with us quite a while,’ continued the nun in a hushed voice, ‘she is one of our charity patients. The family don’t want anything to do with her.’

There was a sharp intake of breath. Ellie looked appalled.

‘It’s terribly sad,’ agreed Sister Cecilia, ‘especially now she is beyond all hope. When Rafe and Flora decide the time has come, that’s when the ventilator will be switched off and our Little Flower kept from her Maker no longer. Her condition is now so poor that a decision will be reached very soon.’

‘Oh my god!’ began a flustered Ellie, ‘sorry Sister.’

There’s more to this than meets the eye, thought the older woman. ‘Come,’ she commanded, leading the way to the general office where there was a chilled water dispenser. She filled two paper cups and handed one to Ellie. ‘You don’t know the patient. Why is this worrying you?’

Sister Cecilia had a wonderfully calm and reassuring face. It was the face of someone who had seen life and death and all stages between, and who could be trusted to give straight answers to difficult questions. ‘Sister,’ said Ellie earnestly. ‘I’ve been told at short notice that my job looking after Mr Harland is to finish in a few days’ time. I have grown very close to Mr Harland this last couple of months and there are times when I feel great concern for him.’

‘Go on,’ said the nun who hadn’t blinked an eye at this admission.

‘I have noticed that he takes a particular interest in this patient. He goes to her room and he stands there, silently, watching her. He looks so sad.’

The nun gave a little questioning tilt of her head, but said nothing.

Ellie felt as if a cruel hand was squeezing her bruised heart. For a moment she just couldn’t speak, then found her voice: ‘Is Teresa in some way connected to Mr Harland? Is she a relative … a friend?’

‘Gracious me, Ellie, do sit down.’ Sister Cecilia glanced at the fob watch pinned to her uniformed chest. ‘Teresa is a local girl. Rafe would never have seen her before the day she was admitted as an emergency.’

Making a great effort to hide her elation – for though a great weight had just been lifted from her mind, there was still a dying woman at the heart of the matter, Ellie put her final question.

‘What happened, Sister? I saw the scar on her chest. At some point during the past year Teresa’s had heart surgery. Was it Rafe who operated on her? Was there an error of judgment? Did he – did Rafe do something wrong?’

‘Nothing of the sort!’

Ellie’s sigh of relief was clearly audible but Sister Cecilia was now deep in thought… There was patient confidentiality to consider, and Mrs Carr was a very close friend of this young woman’s. But bearing in mind that Ellie was a trained nurse and they had been glad to take advantage of her expertise, she would fill in some of the details. ‘Mrs Carr’s son is involved and this isn’t going to be pleasant for you to listen to – or for me to tell you. Do you want me to continue?’

Ellie’s stomach did a backward flip. Did she really want to hear this? ‘Yes, Sister,’ she said breathlessly.

‘Teresa is twenty-seven, married to a school teacher. They have three little children under school age. Teresa met Mrs Carr’s son at a birthday party in his hotel. The two began a love affair.’

‘Ricardo!’ Ellie’s hand flew to her mouth.

Now it was Sister Cecilia’s turn to look startled. ‘You know him?’

‘I have met Senor Schiapa,’ she admitted uncomfortably.

‘As far as that young man was concerned it was probably no more than another fling.’ Sister was brisk and unemotional. ‘He met someone else and lost interest in Teresa. Poor Teresa, who must have thought he was her Abelard.’ The reference was not lost on Ellie, who was thinking how odd it was to hear a nun describe with such understanding a passionate extra-marital relationship.

‘The child took an overdose and was brought to the Centre. The drugs affected her heart and she needed our specialist care. It so happened Mr Harland was over from London to see another patient, he operated – and successfully, let me emphasise. The day after the surgery, Teresa collapsed and suffered severe and permanent brain damage. No one’s fault, no one to blame. Result: one distraught husband, three children deprived of a mother’s love and attention. And a gifted surgeon coming to terms with the knowledge that in spite of all his skills he could not save her.’

There were tears in Ellie’s eyes.
No wonder Rafe had been so hostile toward Ellie’s supposed boyfriend. No wonder Rafe hadn’t approved of her ‘dating’ him. And she, Ellie, had been guilty of manipulating the situation to tease and taunt her Mr Big.

But the nun hadn’t finished. ‘Teresa’s husband is making a new life for himself and his children with someone else. He doesn’t want to know about the wife who betrayed him with another man. No one visits our Little Flower. Not one of her relatives. She can never recover.’

‘Such a tragedy,’ whispered Ellie, deeply moved. She paused for a moment, then said thoughtfully, ‘I’m certain Vivienne doesn’t know any of this.’

Sister nodded. ‘It has occurred to me that the young man may not be aware of it either. He and Teresa moved in very different worlds. I’ve discussed the possibility with Dr Flora.’

Ellie’s gasp was audible. ‘You mean, no one may have told him?’

‘Well, if it’s off with the old and on with the new.’

‘Sister, you sound so cynical. But it is possible.’ Ellie’s head was now buzzing.
Perhaps Rico really did have to make that trip to Tokyo. Perhaps avoiding the Centre was the last thing on his mind.

‘Sister!’ Ellie put an eager hand on the nun’s arm. ‘Do you know, I believe you’re right. Ricardo couldn’t have known that Teresa would do something so dreadful when he ended the affair. He’s not a bad man, truly he isn’t.’
Just too attractive for his own good, and too much of a romantic,
she reflected silently.

The nun’s gaze was speculative. So Ellie knew Ricardo Schiapa rather better than she was letting on. Interesting. Had this English nurse too, succumbed to young Schiapa? Sister Cecilia prayed to heaven Ellie had not, because she and Flora were hoping that… well, time would tell. ‘Here,’ she said quietly, ‘we do not sit in judgement on any human being.’

‘Thank you for being so frank with me, Sister Cecilia.’ Ellie hesitated then said fervently, ‘I shall never forget working here. It has been a real privilege. I will never forget you all.’

‘Oh,’ smiled the nun, laying a kindly hand on Ellie’s shoulder, ‘I think we’ll see you again, Ellie dear. Indeed I shall be most surprised if we don’t.’

Whatever could Sister have meant by that?
pondered Ellie, driving back to the Casa to prepare Rafe’s supper…

W
hen Rafe suggested a picnic tea Ellie could guess what was at the back of his mind. A little treat for his head cook and bottle washer before she headed homeward. Take her out for a little drive and be nice to her for a couple of hours before she left.

‘Lovely,’ she said with false brightness. ‘I can say goodbye to Portugal!’ She busied herself at the kitchen sink, running the hot water and noisily attacking the breakfast dishes - all the while close to tears. She didn’t want to be alone with Rafe, sharing a picnic in some hopelessly romantic spot. She would cry and make an idiot of herself. He would placate her with kind, sensible words … oh no, please no. Let the heavens open and make it a wash-out.

Rafe frowned at her tense back, then remarked casually that they would both be able to say their goodbyes to Portugal. Ellie was startled, but couldn’t turn around in case her brimming eyes should give her away. ‘You’re leaving too!’ she exclaimed.

‘Not on your flight. I’m here till Friday. With no distractions I should get this research project finished and my paper written up.’

‘I see,’ she said flatly, rinsing away the soap suds and stacking the dishes in the rack. ‘I’ll make sure there’s enough food for you in the fridge.’

‘Don’t bother about me,’ he called back over his shoulder as he left for the Centre, ‘I shall be eating out - when you’ve gone.’

When you have gone … when you have gone …

The cheerful note in his voice played over and over in Ellie’s mind as for the very last time she roamed round the market stalls, getting a few simple provisions for the fateful picnic. Rafe might be ravening, but nothing was going to tempt her appetite. Not even her favourite egg-custard tartlets.

Back at the Casa de la Paz she set about packing, low-spirited and sad.

When the shrill of the front door bell pierced the silence she was startled out of her reverie. Callers were few at the Casa, and she hadn’t yet forgotten the drama of that stormy night. Her pulses quickened…

On the doorstep stood Lilian, soignée as ever in a sleeveless floral shift, her glossy black hair in its immaculate chignon - looking as if she spent hours on personal grooming, when that was far from the case as Ellie was now well aware. Not with two children under four, a home to run and a demanding and highly-skilled part-time job. Her husband headed a medical research laboratory where they were collaborating with Rafe’s research project.

Once, Ellie had suspected that Rafe and Lilian had something going on; now she could only feel ashamed of such silliness.

Today there were dark rings under the anaesthest’s eyes and she looked wan and tired. ‘Thank goodness I caught you at home, Ellie, Rafe needs this urgently.’

She was juggling a large black handbag and a box file which Ellie quickly took from her before she dropped it.

‘Jorge sends his apologies. His team at the university have been working overtime on the statistics.’

‘Then I’ll put it right here on the hall chest. Rafe will spot it as soon as he gets in.’

Lilian’s English was fluent, spoken with an attractive lilting accent. Before she met Jorge she had spent six months in the anaesthetics department of a London teaching hospital. She ran a curious hand over the ugly gouges in the Casa’s front door. ‘Whatever’s been going on?’

‘Oh that,’ said Ellie airily, ‘someone tried to break in that night of the storm. Kids, we think. Nothing to worry about,’ she added, seeing the other woman’s look of alarm. ‘I’m so pleased to see you, Lilian,’ she beamed, for over the past few weeks Ellie had really warmed to the hard-working anaesthetist. ‘Do stay for a bit. I’m just back from Loulé and I’ve got fresh pastries in the kitchen. That’s if you’ve got time - you’re not on your way to the Centre, are you?’

‘I’ve been there and now I’m on my way home. I should have given that file to Rafe first thing, but I’m afraid I forgot. You see, it’s been rather a distressing morning for us all.’ She sighed and rubbed her tired eyes. ‘Teresa has died,’ she said simply.

Ellie gasped, her eyes wide with shock. ‘Oh Lilian!’

‘Flora rang late last night and warned me that Teresa was deteriorating. Asked me to go in first thing - which meant a mad rush this morning, getting the children to my mother’s then taking Jorge over to the university. We really do need two cars. Maybe next year,’ she added hopefully, ‘when Mateus starts nursery and I can fit in an extra session at the Centre.’

‘Lilian, I’m so sorry, I truly am.’ She laid a gentle hand on the other woman’s shoulder. ‘Come through to the kitchen and I’ll put the coffee on. Let’s sit in the garden. It’s good to have the sun back.’ Lilian dumped her overloaded handbag on an ebony chair and Ellie, leading the way to the kitchen, asked about her children, trying to help her friend relax.

‘Yes, Flora after her godmother,’ Lilian was saying … ‘Oh what a lovely kitchen - it’s twice the size of mine … in fact it’s a very attractive house. You must have been happy here, Ellie, looking after Rafe.’

Ellie chose her words with care. Understatement was the safest way. ‘It – it has been a privilege,’ she said slowly.

‘Flora so appreciated the way you got stuck in and helped them out. And you do look the picture of health now. The glandular fever must be right out of your system.’

‘Absolutely!’

Lilian perched on a stool, watching as Ellie bustled around the kitchen as if she owned the place. ‘We’re really going to miss you two. You and Rafe make a very good team.’

Ellie’s hazel eyes clouded. This time next year Rafe would be here at the Casa - and she would be in London, staffing on Critical Care. Someone else would be working in this kitchen, brewing coffee and putting custard tartlets on the Casa’s blue-and-white plates.

‘You look so much at home,’ continued Lilian, unaware that she was rubbing salt into a deepening wound. ‘Rafe’s been positively jolly with you around. We’ve been saying that you bring out his lighter side.’

Ellie’s mouth gaped. Lilian raised her fine dark eyebrows.

‘You know Rafe – completely focused on surgery. He’s a truly lovely guy and wonderful with the patients – which certainly isn’t true of all the VIP surgeons who come to the Centre. We’d all like to see him – well.’ Lilian patted her chignon, feeling for wisps that were not there. The sentence floated, unfinished, on the air…

Ellie was flustered now. The implication was obvious - and hurtfully so. She picked up the laden tray and led the way to the verandah where they settled in wicker chairs by the poolside.

Lilian kicked her off her high heels and stretched out her bare legs, enjoying two of the custard tarts and a large mug of coffee.

Ellie rolled up her loose cargo bottoms. She was wearing her travel clothes to save washing. ‘What happened … this morning?’ she asked hesitantly.

‘Ah well, the inevitable. Because of the deterioration, the decision had to be faced…’

‘To turn off the life support.’

‘Exactly. And as the anaesthetist that’s my responsibility. Rafe, Cecilia … we were all there and Fr Teo gave Teresa the last rites. It was peaceful and solemn and I think everyone felt ... well, it was the kindest thing we could do for her.’