Heart Surgeon in Portugal (7 page)

There was no safe answer to this so she held her tongue, standing at Rafe’s elbow and obediently following every move. With the meticulous care worthy of an expert in the techniques of coronary bypass, the surgeon presided over the scrubbed pine kitchen table, dissecting small green lemons into a tall glass jug - dripping water over the kitchen floor which Giovana had mopped only half an hour ago. Droplets of moisture clung patchily to his oiled skin as he stood there in the brief black Speedos he preferred for a serious swim, wet feet planted astride. Just as he must stand under the bright dead lights of an operating theatre, mused Ellie, her attention drifting …

As lead surgeon RH would take his place on the right-hand side of the black operating table, there among the shining surfaces and blinking monitors, clad from head to toe in sterile theatre greens … those formidable black eyes glittering above his mask. Ellie smiled a little secret smile. Here she was, putting clothes
on
to the alpha-male at her side, while besotted theatre staff would be fantasising about, well, just the opposite …

Rafe gave her a sharp sidelong glance and her guilty face began to flame. Closing her eyes tight, she tried to picture ice and snow and lovely cold things … anything to cool the colour in her hot cheeks because the last thing she needed – the very
last thing! -
was for RH to guess how much he was beginning to haunt her fantasies. But there was no getting away from it. The guy was headily attractive and here they were, just the two of them, living under the same roof, in close proximity for hours on end. And both of them wearing next to nothing for he hadn’t given Ellie time to grab anything to cover herself up. ‘Come with me!’ he had ordered, meaning right now, not in two or even three minutes’ time.

Her bikini was ancient, three triangles of Liberty-print cotton and a size too small, fastening precariously with ribbon ties. She hunched her narrow shoulders trying to hide the fact her bra top was scarcely fit for purpose. Beneath their feet the terracotta tiles were wet and slippery - which gave her an excuse to take a breather. Giovana had left mop and bucket just outside the kitchen door. Ellie fetched them and began mopping round and between the surgeon’s bare feet.

‘What are you fussing about now!’ exclaimed Rafe in exasperation.

‘The floor’s downright dangerous,’ scolded Ellie. She waited for the snort of derision this was bound to provoke, but instead got another of those amused appraising glances and an eloquently raised eyebrow. She stole a quick glance at her watch, a tendril of sun-bleached hair drifting over her left eye as she bent her head.
Please please get a move on! The supermarket closes for a two-hour siesta and the fridge is almost empty…

She gave a sudden shriek as a lemon bounced out reach and the surgeon seemed about to lose a thumb from one of those precious hands. ‘Oh!!’ she gasped, and flung a protective arm round his back. Pulling it back as if scorched by the contact with warm bare skin. Gasping an apology.

‘Good grief, woman!’ said Rafe testily, ‘you're a bundle of nerves.’

Ellie was truly shocked at what she’d just done - grabbing hold of him like that. And his remark made her feel small and silly. Look at the height and power of him - why her head reached no higher than his shoulder. ‘No doubt you'd faint at the sight of blood,’ he was saying, giving her another of those sidelong glances.

So infuriating!

She lowered her eyelids to conceal the rage in her eyes, but if he wanted games, she was playing. ‘Whooh yes,’ she agreed with a theatrical shiver borrowed from her mother, ‘can’t stand the sight of blood. Makes me go all kind of wobbly.’ Meanwhile a teasing little imp in her brain was gleefully telling her:
Mr Big’s loving being master chef! Bide your time, Ellie Robey. When he slices through an artery, you’ll save his life and all will be revealed!

‘Have you ever cut yourself, Dr Harland?’ she simpered disingenuously.

Rafe stared down into the wide and ingenuous hazel eyes.
‘
You address physicians as Doctor, surgeons as Mister,’ he reminded her, his voice dangerously soft. ‘Hasn’t your brother taught you anything?’

Damn! Walked into that one! Must be more careful …
‘Goodness – I quite forgot! Silly me!’

‘Indeed. I thought I told you to call me Rafe.’

Ellie batted her eyelashes and said, ‘But have you ever, Rafe? Cut yourself, I mean.’ A bubble of laughter welled up in her throat and her eyes twinkled a warning that the keen-eyed Rafe Harland was not slow to miss. He hesitated thoughtfully and his eyes lingered on that teasingly curved mouth smiling up at him.

‘Nerves can make a junior surgeon’s hands shake a bit at the start. And there’s always the risk he’s going to nick your glove. Fortunately,’ the low voice was emphatic and the dark eyes held warning to anyone tempted to play games, ‘fortunately I have lightning reactions. As you know.’

Ellie was recalling a tumbling black-leather briefcase.
Which makes two of us,
she thought with an inward smirk.

‘It would be just fantastic to watch you doing an operation,’ she gushed, quite forgetting that five minutes ago she had been declaring a blood phobia. Rafe Harland snorted with laughter. ‘My dear girl, you'd be out like a light at the first incision, getting under my feet, as usual. Pass me that sieve. And fetch me some ice-cubes.’

‘Don't you ever say please?’ muttered Ellie
sotto voce
. If I was your scrub nurse it would give me the greatest pleasure to drop these ice-cubes inside your rubber theatre boots!

‘OK put that in the fridge. Teaching session’s over. In half an hour bring me a jug and a couple of glasses and you’ll find out how good this tastes. Now I’ve got work to do.’

Ellie cleared up all the mess he had made, wiped over the table top, then sat down with pencil and paper. Giovana finished cleaning upstairs and came in to say goodbye. ‘Obrigada, Giovana!’ With nods and smiles Ellie thanked her for the fresh supply of eggs and another of her deliciously crusty loaves. Seeing Ellie was writing out a shopping-list, Giovana plonked an almost empty bottle of floor cleaner on the table, and Ellie copied down what it said on the label. But she couldn’t leave for half an hour because of his lordship’s pesky lemonade chilling in the fridge. She tidied her bed and changed into jeans and a loose linen shirt ready for the drive to the outskirts of a little inland town where the supermarket stocked most of what was needed for the next couple of days. She took Rafe his glass of lemonade and told him she must go shopping but would be back in time to see to their lunch.

Rafe had good and bad news for her on her return. ‘Don’t worry about supper,’ he said over his ham and tomato rolls, ‘I’m dining out tonight.’

Ellie’s face registered surprise and curiosity but he didn’t enlighten her further.

Evidently the arrangement had been made in her absence. Bad timing with pork in the fridge and fish planned for tomorrow night. She trailed back to the kitchen and tried to cheer herself up with the thought that the afternoon and evening were hers to do as she pleased – and that she wouldn’t be having to keep her mouth zipped so could make lots of calls home. Who was Rafe dining with? It was bound to be a woman.

Drooping against the kitchen sink, Ellie sipped her lemonade and grudgingly had to admit it: in spite of those green lemons it was as delicious as he’d confidently predicted.

She decided to lie out in the sun for an hour. Out of sight. And she’d found the perfect spot for some very private sunbathing.

A flight of steps went from the terrace to an arched balcony giving on to the two upstairs suites. Only Giovana ever came up there, to sweep and wipe over the white plastic sunbed, the small table and the two chairs. With a thick, folded towel, Ellie made herself a mattress and discarded Jon’s old striped shirt with its fraying sleeves. Set the timer on her cellphone, untied her uncomfortable top and stretched out lapping up more glorious sunshine. In a while she’d go down to the verandah and take the working surgeon a refreshing cold drink.

At the insistent buzz she leapt to her feet, wiping her hot face with a tissue and reaching for her bikini cover.

‘Your lemon, sir!’ she proclaimed happily, setting jug and glasses on the low rattan table beside Mr Harland's chair. He was talking into his Blackberry again and apart from a nod of the head Ellie might as well be invisible. ‘Book him in for surgery in a week’s time,’ she heard him say. ‘Thanks Flora. Bye.’

The dark handsome head was bowed in concentration; secure, mused Ellie dryly, in the knowledge that no call to wait on some woman or see to a meal would interrupt
his
precious time. It was a man's world all right; for a woman to succeed she must deal with all the mundane tasks and double her efforts if she wanted a career as well. It was bitterly true you had to be twice as good as any man to make your mark.

She attempted a diversion. ‘This is paradise!’ She dropped into the plump cushions of a cane basket chair, sighed in ecstasy, let her shirt fall open and stared innocently up into the sky. Rafe didn’t so much as glance up, entirely preoccupied with the forthcoming paper to be presented at an international congress of specialists

There wasn’t a cloud in sight - just the winged shapes of birds darting back and forth against the brilliant blue of the skies. Although the place seemed silent, Ellie was always alert to the myriad little sounds of the countryside. Up on the farm a donkey brayed and the air was full of tiny insects going about the day’s business. A gecko shot up the verandah walls and stayed there, keeping a beady eye on the two giants below. A persistent wasp settled on the edge of Rafe’s lemonade glass and he flicked it away with a casual finger, taking a long draught and seeming oblivious of Ellie and her deliberately provocative pose.

‘The bougainvillea’s just amazing,’ she exclaimed, ‘I must send Mum a photo.’ She held up her mobile and clicked on the camera app. It was the perfect excuse to take a photo and cleverly get Mr Big into the shot. He wasn’t listening anyway - wouldn’t even notice what she was up to.

Suddenly the little grey cat stepped daintily out of a clump of scented geraniums, her precise movements stirring the frilly leaves to release a waft of peppermint into the air. ‘Hello Puss!’ exclaimed Ellie, making kissing noises and stretching out a hand. But it was Rafe the little cat wanted, running to his side on long thin legs and purring happily. Absentmindedly Rafe tickled its ears and stroked the dusty grey fur. The little animal headed indoors.

‘Oh no, none of that,’ he commanded. ‘We don’t want you in the house.’

‘I’ll see to it,’ sighed Ellie. heaving herself out of the cushions she padded on bare feet to close the French doors. ‘Now Miss Moggs, you 'eard what the master did say, you'm to stay out 'ere in the cold, cold snow.’

No reaction from Rafe. Not the glimmer of a smile. ‘No sense of humour,’ thought Ellie gloomily. ‘I don’t like that in a man.’ A strange restlessness was taking hold of her. She knew she shouldn’t try to distract him, that she was treading on dangerous ground by trying to get his attention. And she really didn’t need to ask to permission to go in the pool…

‘Would you mind if I swim?’

No answer.

‘It’s so hot! I could do with a swim.’

‘Hell’s teeth, woman, what’s the matter with you!’ he said suddenly, throwing down his pen and looking up in irritation - just in time to catch her stripping off Jon’s fraying shirt to reveal a white halter-neck bikini she was saving for best, her one extravagance, bought from Harvey Nichols a few days before leaving England. It had looked particularly flattering in the changing room mirrors. Now Ellie wasn’t so sure.

Rafe’s eloquent left eyebrow said it all. A wolf whistle couldn’t be more vocal.

Ellie poised herself on the edge of the pool, toes curled and ready to dive, praying everything would stay in place. She dived in a bit clumsily and hid herself away beneath the rippling surface, telling herself she was sensibly protecting her body from the ultra-violet rays of the sun.

When she clambered out again, those laser-eyes were waiting.

Her attempt at distracting him had certainly worked! Seeing this gave Ellie quite a buzz.

‘Now I see why,’ came the lazy drawl, ‘you go around in that dreadful shirt’

Ellie gulped in exasperation. What exactly was that supposed to mean?

Quickly she grabbed the shirt and slung it over her wet shoulders, meaning to go back to her room and shower off the pool water, but his next words stopped her in her tracks.

‘Throw it away,’ he said. ‘You look so much nicer without it.’

All of a sudden he reached out, pulled the shirt from her and threw it into the pool, where it bobbed for a moment, filled with water, and then sank to the bottom. ‘Oh, how could you,’ she said reproachfully. ‘Now I’m going to have to -’

‘Leave it.’ he commanded, staring blatantly at her exposed body.

To hide her confusion – a kind of thrilling embarrassment – Ellie leaned forward and flung her hair down, ruffling it with her fingers to loosen the clinging strands. It had grown so much longer since she’d been ill that it almost touched the terracotta tiles, droplets of moisture spattering down in tiny dark patches.

‘Aren’t
you
going for a swim? ‘she asked breathlessly, shaking her wet hair sexily like the French girls she had seen on the beaches.

‘Might as well,’ he said laconically. ‘Let these dry off for a bit.’ He gestured at the table top and Ellie’s mouth gaped in dismay. Her hands flew to her face. ‘Mr Harland!’ she gasped.

‘Rafe.’

‘Rafe - I’m really really sorry!’ she said wretchedly, her horrified stare taking in the wet blotches spreading across the pages he had been working on, making the black ink run.

It was like a replay of that incident on the plane!

Something though had changed: then she had cared nothing for Mr Big’s approval … now Ellie was genuinely upset at what she had done. If only he didn’t use a fountain pen, it wouldn’t look nearly as bad.

But Rafe didn’t seem overly dismayed. ‘It’ll soon dry,’ he said kindly, ‘time I took a break anyway.’ He stripped off his tee-shirt and then stopped, giving her one of those quizzical glances that sent shivers down her spine. ‘You might want to look the other way.’ He peeled off the rest of his clothes in one movement and made a running dive into the deep end, swimming the length of the pool underwater and emerging to see that the bird had flown …