Heart Surgeon in Portugal (4 page)

What had he done with her things?

Taking me for a squatter! How ridiculous. Stupid man knew I was coming out to the Casa. And would you just look at that!
An angry hand had wrenched those silky blue curtains with such aggression that the fabric had been dragged away from its wooden pole.

Ellie fixed the curtains, pulled them aside and her hazel eyes blinked - and blinked again. Could this be for real? Glorious sky, brilliant sunshine, the glitter of a turquoise pool flanked by lavender bushes … and all framed in cerise-pink bougainvillea blossom, stirring gently in the faintest breeze.

Daylight flooded into the bedroom, as if the Casa was tempting her, revealing pretty white-painted furniture, hand-decorated in pastel shades with flowers and curlicues. Twin beds with more of those nobbly bedcovers, this time in bright blue. French doors so she could step straight out into the garden. ‘No. I’m sorry. You’re very nice but I’m not going to stay!’ she told the room firmly. ‘How can I, after …’

She buried her head in her hands, reliving it all over again. Oh god, those must be his research papers she’d thrown all over the plane. And she’d stared back at him with a ‘so-what?’ smirk whenever his disapproving eyes met hers. She’d behaved like a little hooligan!

Well, she certainly couldn't have it out with him, not like this, not looking like a scarecrow.
You can’t quit,
scolded her inner voice.
For Jon’s sake you can’t slink
back home like a spineless teenager.
You’re a grown woman, an RGN. You’re going to be bossing junior doctors around soon. Deal with it, Staff Nurse Robey.

‘Right. I shall do just that. Tidy myself up, apologise (gulp). What’s the beastly man done with all my gear?’

The first door Ellie opened revealed an en-suite bathroom, decoratively-tiled in deep blues and whites. The next door led out into a passage, and she all but went headlong - just as Rafe Harland had done in the small hours. Here was all her stuff, thrown against her bedroom door with scant regard.

Half an hour later Ellie ventured forth, bathed, shampooed and in the least crumpled of all her clothes, a pink cotton TopShop sundress. Too short, unfortunately, for the dignified look Ellie first had in mind but it had at least seen an iron before she packed. Palms clammy and heart pumping, she pulled open the French doors and stepped outside, catching the toe of her flip flop on the sill and almost falling into the sunshine.
Oh sugar! so much for making a dignified entry into the lion’s den.

Well, more of a sea-lion’s, judging by the dark figure storming up and down the glittering turquoise water of a Roman-end swimming pool. With any luck Mr Big -
stoppit! -
hadn’t noticed her almost falling on her nose.

And where to look first? It was all so exotic and nothing like an English garden back home. Trees dripping with real oranges and real lemons -
And all that
pink and orange bougainvillea smothering the walls and the covered terrace
…

‘Oh wow!’ exclaimed Ellie.

Already the sun was about as hot as was bearable. The shimmery-blue waters looked mighty tempting and Ellie hovered tentatively at the side of the pool, watching Mr Big’s powerful driving crawl. He was good. He made hardly a splash.

‘Come here!’ barked the sea-lion.

Ellie’s lips tightened with dislike.

Ignoring the steps leading out of the deep end, Rafe Harland was heaving his hard-muscled body out of the water, shaking off the drops that clung to his skin and hair. No stoop, no paunch, not a lax muscle or a spare pound of flesh.
He sure is fit!
noted Ellie grudgingly.
With a tan, he’ll be …
She pulled herself together sharply and thought of Sister Lee who ran the most efficient medical ward Ellie had ever worked on. No consultant would dare play the bully with Sister Lee. Ellie was going to be Sister Lee.

‘Mr Harland,’ she began crisply and with an assurance that narrowed the thoughtful black eyes resting upon her. ‘About last night, I—’

‘Shut up!’ snapped Rafe, towering over her now, legs astride and firmly planted, dripping water over the tiles and spattering her pink cotton dress. He was pushing the fingers of his right hand into the angle of his jaw, left arm raised so he could concentrate on the dial of his waterproof watch.

She knew just what he was doing: taking his carotid pulse, checking the wave of pressure which indicated the pumping action of his heart, the rate, the strength, the rhythm. He'd be particularly interested in the rate— something athletes did regularly to stress the cardiovascular system, spurring themselves on to greater fitness, pushing the rate higher every day they trained. A purple bruise was already darkening on his shoulder. It looked sore, and serve him right.

She lifted her gaze to find the surgeon returning her examination with an unsubtle scrutiny that was very hard to meet. Nevertheless Ellie forced her hostile hazel eyes to clash against his.

‘I’m Eleanor Robey,’ she said, ‘in case you haven’t worked that out, Mr Harland. I’m Dr Robey’s sister.’

‘And I suppose I’ve no choice but to put up with you!’ sneered her employer in tones of pure disgust. He had been expecting someone with some gravitas, competent, with her head screwed on. And what had he got instead? A dizzy airhead, too attractive for her own good ... or his. ‘I'm going to need a chaperone,’ he muttered, frowning at her from under glowering brows, ruefully rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I'm in need of care and protection.’

Ellie couldn’t believe her ears. ‘I beg your pardon!’

‘You're nothing like your brother. Good job too.’

Ellie’s jaw dropped.

‘No,’ Rafe continued, pitilessly itemising Ellie’s faults. ‘Clumsy, careless, inconsiderate. Have you always been so badly co-ordinated?’

Ellie had taken as much as she was going to stand from this hateful man. Being Sister Lee wasn’t working. There were times when actions could speak louder than words and quickly before she could change her mind she shot an arm out and pushed Mr Big square and hard and right in the six-pack.

He teetered on the brink of the pool, lost his balance and crashed in backwards sending up a great splash of pool water all over Ellie.

Her pink dress was soaked but Ellie didn’t care. Delight inflamed her. Just as well she hadn’t bothered to unpack.

She swing round on her heel intent on making a hasty getaway - but too late! With incredible speed Rafe Harland was out of the pool and holding her fast, chilled fingers digging into the flesh of her arm. Oh shit! gasped Ellie, I’ve done it now! She was spun helplessly around and forced to face her adversary.

‘You great bully,’ she shrieked, ‘let me go!’

‘Spoiled little brat,’ he hissed in her ear, bending down toward her flinching head.

But he released her, planting himself decisively in her path, his body gleaming with crystalline drops of moisture.

Under the brief pink skirt Ellie’s legs were shaking. ‘I’ve been ill. If I have a relapse it will be your fault,
doctor.
And,’ she added defiantly, ‘if you're expecting an apology you're in for a disappointment!’

‘If I wanted an apology, believe me’, came the cool response, ‘I would get one.’

Ellie winced. Typical high-flying surgeon! Everyone at his beck and call and heaven help anyone foolish enough to incur his mighty wrath.

‘Since you chose the deep end for your childish display of temper, there's no real harm done. Go and get my breakfast.’ He turned away with a grin that had Ellie digging her nails into her palms with fury. Adding over his shoulder, ‘You’ve given me quite an appetite.’

He strolled over to his sunlounger and picked up an orange-striped towel, slung it round his neck and stood there examining her, legs-astride in his wetly clinging black trunks. Ellie might have made a quick exit, but sheer indignation rooted her, mouth agape, to the spot. ‘When you’ve finished,’ he said generously, ‘take a swim and cool off. You won’t need to bother unpacking your bikini,’ his hand gestured at her body, an up and down movement that had a startled Ellie looking down at her front. The pink cotton dress was soaked and transparent, and so was her wet bra and little cotton thong. ‘Not now I’ve seen the lot,’ said Mr Harland cheerfully, donning his Raybans and stretching out in the sun.

With a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a groan Ellie made a dash for her bedroom, tripping over the sill yet again while behind her Rafe Harland chuckled with unkind satisfaction.

Behind her the French doors slammed to with such force that the glass rattled in its wooden frame. She tore off her wet clothes and with trembling fingers unzipped the big wheeled case, pulling clothes out helter-skelter and flinging them on the floor as she searched for something big and enveloping in which to hide her humiliated person. First to hand was an old striped shirt of Jon’s which had acted as a swimwear cover-up on many a Breton beach in her teenage years. At least it came down to mid-thigh and could be buttoned right up to the throat. Ellie shrugged it on, did up every button and flung herself onto the bed where she lay and composed in her head the letter she was going to have to send home - and pronto.

‘Mum and Dad and Jon - I am SO sorry to have to tell you this. Harland is hateful. I have nicknamed him Mr Big and oh boy is that apt. He’s got such a high opinion of himself that to him I’m just a pigmy, an ant, something to be squashed underfoot, to be trampled upon …

Ellie’s stomach gave a loud rumble. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime. And there was the little matter of breakfast. Well! If Mr Big thought Ellie Robey was going to lift a finger to do anything for him, he could think again. ‘He is utterly selfish and self-absorbed,’ Ellie wrote in her imaginary letter… She liked that. Self-absorbed. Good choice of words. ‘He has no compassion. Cares nothing for the fact that I’ve been so ill.’ Yes, that should make them sit up back home.

She lay back on the pillows, hands clasped behind her head, picturing the heart-rending scene when her parents got this letter. ‘I’m sorry but I cannot stay a moment longer. As soon as I can book a return flight I-’

There was a sharp tap on the door and Mr Big poked his head in. ‘Good grief, what happened in here?’

‘I’m unpacking,’ said Ellie sulking, staying right where she was.
Damn! she shouldn’t have said that. Now he’d think she was here for good.

‘What about breakfast? You should be in the kitchen.’

‘Don’t know where the kitchen is.’ She folded her arms and stared up at the ceiling…

‘Get up then and I will show you,’ he said calmly.

Ellie didn’t move. ‘I’ll carry you,’ he warned.

‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ Ellie sighed. Since she was going home, there was no need to be nice to the man. She rolled off the bed and stood up in all her striped-shirt buttoned-to-the-neck glory. ‘Lovely,’ commented Mr Big sarcastically. The glint of amusement in his dark eyes wasn’t lost on Ellie but she really didn’t care what impression she was making. She followed him to the kitchen. ‘Giovana has very kindly brought us a fresh loaf and left butter and so on in the fridge. I like to eat outside, OK?’

Ellie nodded dumbly. There was a big earthenware bowl on the kitchen table, piled high with oranges and lemons. She picked up a lemon and rolled it in her fingers. It was still warm from the sun. ‘I’ve just picked those. One of the pleasures of being out here.’ Mr Big smiled at her and that rare smile was so engaging, who could fail to smile back? Ellie simply couldn’t help herself.
Damn!

‘Later on I’ll show you how to make fresh lemonade. It’s very simple. Now, I’m going to be working outside. Do you think you can manage?’

‘Yes Mr Harland.’

Ellie did a quick rethink and jettisoned the letter home. What was the point anyway? It would still be in the post long after she was back in her own comfy bed. Whatever Jon said about cardiac surgeons, and this man in particular, with a surgeon brother she was in a good position to know these big beasts were as human as the next man. And they did need feeding …

T
he big round table on the verandah didn’t need a cloth, decided Ellie; it would be a shame to cover up the pretty porcelain tiles. A quick wipe over with a damp cloth and the surface shone, its green, orange and yellow patterns reflecting the vivid hues of the garden. Ellie beamed. It made her simple breakfast look better than it deserved.

Not that Mr Harland made any comment, for he spread out his papers and worked as he ate his scrambled eggs, barely glancing at his plate. He was wearing a pair of elderly khaki shorts. And that was all. Where did those come from? wondered Ellie. He had definitely travelled without a suitcase and this house was rented. And as for the black Speedos - she happened to know they weren’t in the briefcase either. A little snort of amusement escaped her lips, but Mr Big was working and in a world of his own. Birdsong, the buzzing of insects, beep of a car horn up on the road and the lowing of cattle up at the farm, he heard none of it.

Which was rather boring.

She hovered nearby in waitress-mode, her eyes locked on to that splendid physique. RH hadn’t been in sunshine for the best part of a year, that much was obvious. But god, the man was buff! The back and shoulders were broad and strongly muscled, and any rugby-player would be proud of those powerful thighs. Her gaze lingered on his magnificent legs … then travelled slowly up his torso to settle on his bowed head. The way that dark hair curled after a swim … what a waste to be hidden away under a theatre cap during the long surgical day. Ellie imagined herself running her hands through it …

Sunlight glinted on a scattering of silver threads at the temples. It gave him an urbane and worldly air. She suddenly realised he was looking at her - looking at her as she studied him with dreamy eyes.

‘Very nice!’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘What did you put in the eggs?’

Phew, he liked it, that was a relief - good start, Ellie. ‘Some tarragon I found growing near the kitchen door. The way my mother does it.’

‘Giovana left us some eggs then. Very considerate of her. I must thank her.’