The Italian Surgeon's Christmas Miracle (9 page)

‘At Barkers?’ Automatically, Luke bent to brush a kiss to the papery cheek. Reginald’s brother-in-law owned a department store that rivalled Harrod’s.

‘Of course.’

Luke didn’t sit down. ‘I haven’t much time, I’m sorry. I’m due back in Theatre.’

‘So I see.’ The smile was tolerant. ‘It’s acceptable, is it? To be seen in public wearing pyjamas?’

‘These are scrubs,’ Luke said. ‘You’ve seen surgeons on television.’

‘I don’t watch television. You know that, Luke.’

‘Yes.’ Luke had to resist looking at his office clock. ‘Is something wrong? You never come to the hospital. You’re not unwell in any way, are you?’

‘Not at all. I’m as fit as a fiddle. As I said, I’ve just had lunch with the Battersbys and I had to come past on my way home so I got Henry to drop me off at the front door. A nice young woman at Reception told me where I could find your office. I think we need to have a talk, Luke.’

Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘But I’m coming to see you tomorrow.’

There was a moment’s silence and Luke noticed the way his grandmother was twisting the gloves she had taken off. It gave the impression the old woman was nervous. Surely not.

‘Why didn’t you tell me, Luke?’ Prudence spoke in a very uncharacteristic rush. ‘About that house?’

‘Oh…’ Luke leaned back against his desk, hooking up one leg, his eyes narrowing a little as he focused on his grandmother. ‘Yes. The house. Giovanni Moretti’s house.’

Amy’s house.

‘Reginald tells me it’s being used as some kind of orphanage. That you’re planning to demolish it. That you intend evicting these people immediately.’

Luke said nothing.

‘That would be wrong, Luke. Especially at Christmastime. Unless better accommodation can be found, of course. I think I can help. Lucy and I were talking about it and we decided—’

‘Grandmother,’ Luke interrupted. He kept his voice low. Calm and collected. There was no point in upsetting someone he respected and loved. His only family, in fact. And he had to give her the benefit of the doubt. Lying was dishonourable and it was not something the Harringtons ever did. ‘Did my father ever try to find me?’ he asked. ‘Did he come to the village? To our house, even?’

‘What makes you ask such a thing?’

‘It’s what his niece told me when I went to the house yesterday.’

Prudence went pale. Luke could see what little colour she had fading rapidly, and for a horrible moment he thought he was about to witness his grandmother collapsing.

‘You went to the house? You spoke to a…a cousin?’

‘Not exactly.’ Amy was distantly related in some fashion but it wasn’t that close. Not close enough to be any kind of obstacle.

An obstacle to what, precisely?

Luke had to shake the distracting thought away. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

The soft, kid gloves were being strangled. ‘You have to understand, Luke. It was a terribly difficult time.’

‘He did come, didn’t he?’

‘Twice. The second time he came with a policeman, but he still had no right to trespass. Henry dealt with him.’

Henry. The devoted chauffeur and maintenance man who was married to Elaine, Harrington Manor’s housekeeper. A man who would say or do anything his employer requested.

‘And the first time? Was that when you told him I was dead?’

It was his grandmother’s turn to be silent. To wait for what was clearly coming.

‘You told me my father didn’t care about me. That I meant nothing to him. That you were the only family I had or needed.’

‘No.’ Prudence shook her head. She looked suddenly much more than her eighty-seven years. She looked old and so frail Luke felt a twinge of guilt for confronting her. ‘I never
said
that.’

‘You let me believe it.’

‘It was for your own sake. For all our sakes. Can’t you see that, Luke?’

She kept using his name and it was starting to sound strangely formal. Cold, even.

Luca…

‘It was wrong,’ Luke said heavily. ‘You denied me my father, but I was too young to remember him or know what I was missing. What was worse was denying a father his son.’

‘It was for your own sake,’ Prudence repeated. ‘He would have taken you away, Luke. To live in poverty in a foreign country. Your education would have been inadequate at best. You wouldn’t be the person you are today. I only wanted what was best for you.
You.
My grandson. The only person who is going to carry the Harrington name forward.’

A sensation akin to horror was crawling on Luke’s skin. The enormity of what had been done, albeit with the best of intentions. A man’s life had been cruelly damaged and—It was true, he might not have become who he was if things had been different.

‘Are you not happy with the life you’ve had, Luke?’ His grandmother was rallying now. Gathering her pride as she convinced herself, yet again, that she had done what had been only right and proper. ‘You’ve had the best of everything. You’re successful and important. I’m very, very proud of you.’

She was. She was also a strong, proud woman who had been fiercely independent since being widowed when her only child had been young. For the first time Luke had an inkling of how important
he
had been to her. The only link to a beloved husband and daughter. Without him in her life, she would now be a very lonely old woman, living virtually alone in an isolated mausoleum of a family home.

So very, very different to the kind of home and family Luke might have had with his father.

And Amy.

A messy, warm, volatile domestic mix.

Chaos versus order.

Crowds against solitude.

Making do instead of success.

The benefits of what he’d been given were obvious, so why did he feel so confused? Why did he feel the urge to grab his coat from the hook on the door, find that photograph and hold it under his grandmother’s nose? He was dangerously close to doing something as unspeakable as shouting at her. Telling her she had done something wicked to both his father and himself.

Something that could never be undone.

And perhaps that was the key. If it couldn’t be undone, what was the point in overreacting? And there was never any point in reacting to the extent that emotions overrode rational thinking. Luke pushed himself to his feet.

‘I must go. We’ll have to discuss this at another time.’

‘As you wish.’ If Prudence was disappointed in any way, she wasn’t about to show it. She put a hand on the arm of her chair and started to rise slowly. With another twinge at how frail she seemed, Luke helped her to her feet. He picked up her handbag and the silver-tipped cane she used and then held open the office door.

‘Are you all right? Do you need me to come down with you?’

‘I shall manage perfectly well, Luke. As I always do. I believe you’re needed elsewhere.’

That was true, but Luke walked as far as the lift with his grandmother. The doors opened as soon as he pushed the button and to his surprise a figure bustled forward. Luke had to catch his grandmother’s arm to prevent a collision.

‘Oh, I’m sorry!’

‘Amy!’

‘Oh…’ Amy’s eyes widened. She looked disconcerted. Then she looked at his companion. Prudence stared back.

‘This is my grandmother, Amy. Lady Prudence Harrington. Grandmother, this is Amy Phillips, a nurse on my ward.’

‘Indeed.’ Prudence inclined her head graciously. ‘Delighted to meet you, Miss Phillips.’

Amy smiled. ‘You, too,’ she said. Her eyes held a question as she looked back at Luke. ‘You wouldn’t have a minute, would you, Mr Harrington? There’s something I really wanted to talk to you about.’

‘One minute would definitely be the limit,’ Luke said. He kissed his grandmother. ‘We’ll talk later.’

‘Indeed,’ Prudence agreed as the lift doors slid shut.

Amy was staring at the doors even after they’d shut, a puzzled frown on her face.

‘Walk with me,’ Luke invited. ‘I really have to be in Theatre. We can talk on the way.’

‘OK.’ Amy gave a little skip as she caught up. Luke headed for the stairs that would take him to the theatre suite on the top floor. ‘I have an idea,’ she said a little breathlessly.

‘Oh?’

‘You’re planning to get rid of my house and then sell the land and donate all the money to charity, yes?’

Luke stopped. That
had
been the plan. Funny how it seemed a rather long time ago that he’d made it.

‘I know you think it’s dreadful.’ Amy’s words tumbled out. ‘Disorganised and messy and that maybe the children would be better off somewhere else, but I can prove that’s not true.’

‘Oh?’ Luke was still trying to remember why it had seemed the best course of action.

‘Give me a chance,’ Amy begged. ‘I can fix things in the house. Tidy everything up. Come and see what it’s like when Mamma and Rosa are back and it’s more…normal.’

He couldn’t miss the flush on her cheeks or the way her gaze slid sideways. Whatever was normal for the Phillips household was hardly likely to seem normal for a Harrington.

‘After Christmas?’ Amy added hopefully.

Christmas!

Luke turned abruptly. ‘Come with me,’ he commanded.

He was heading back to his office.

Walking so fast Amy had trouble keeping up. She hadn’t presented her plan very well, had she? It had been disconcerting, meeting his grandmother like that.

Prudence Harrington.

The old-fashioned given name was familiar but Amy couldn’t locate the memory and it made her feel unfocused.

So did being in Luke’s office. Especially when he closed the door behind them.

‘There,’ he said. ‘It’s for you.’

‘What?’ Amy could see a chair and a pair of gloves lying on the floor beside it, but surely he couldn’t mean them? She looked up at the framed diplomas on the wall. A bookshelf stacked with glossy medical textbooks arranged according to height. Piles of journals that were probably filed by exact issue numbers. Plastic models of hearts. Everything in its place. Tidy and precise.

Apart from the large, battered cardboard carton in the corner, with a frond of tinsel poking through where the flaps had been closed over the top of the box.

‘They were going to throw them out,’ Luke was saying just behind her shoulder. ‘I thought…’

He had rescued the old decorations from the ward. He was giving them to
her.

For their Christmas tree.

For the children.

Amy turned slowly, to look up at the surgeon. This was the last thing she would have expected and she could see that it was out of character. Had he asked somebody for something that was considered rubbish?

Carried it himself, to his private office?

For
her
?

It was like a flash of lightning. A crack in the veneer of a man considered remote and unfeeling, and Amy could see clearly into that crack. She could see the lonely boy Margaret had told her about. She had met the cool woman, generations removed, who had raised him. She could see someone who didn’t know what it was like to be really loved.

Cherished.

She wanted to hold him. To cherish him.

But all she could do was smile through her tears. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. Please, take them. I really have to go now.’

Except he didn’t move.

‘Would you…think about what I said? About my plan? I’ll do
anything
…’

He was standing close again. Close enough to kiss her. And he was staring at her mouth. Looking exactly like he had last night in the park. Like he wanted to kiss her. Like he wanted
her
.

‘Anything?’
His voice was husky.

The silent addition of ‘Even
this
?’ hung in the air as he bent his head to kiss her.

Oh, Lord, did he think she was offering herself? For the sake of saving her house?

She was offering herself, but not for that reason. Because he needed someone. He needed
her
.

And, yes, she would do anything for him.

Especially
this.

Amy closed her eyes and gave herself up to the kiss, but it was a kiss barely begun when it was interrupted by a shocked voice.

‘Luke!’

He stepped back as if Amy had bitten him. Confused, Amy turned to see his grandmother standing in the doorway of the office.

‘I thought you were required in the operating theatre, Luke. Urgently.’

‘I am.’

‘I must have dropped my gloves. I came back.’ Prudence gave Amy a look that made her want to check that her blouse was still buttoned and then sink into the floor and vanish.

And then, before she could finish cringing, she was alone. The gloves had been snatched up and given back to their owner and both Luke and his grandmother had gone.

Amy stood there, bemused. She touched her lips with her tongue and she could still taste Luke.

She looked at the box of decorations and she could still see the crack in that veneer. The glimpse into the soul of the man she loved.

But, most of all, she felt reprimanded. Prudence had informed her, with a single glance, of just how completely unsuitable she was. Unacceptable.

Prudence. More than being careful. More like being surrounded by an impenetrable wall. The woman had no soul.

Where on earth had she heard that?

From Uncle Vanni.

He’d said it. About Caroline’s mother. Not to Amy, but she’d overheard and she’d known that she would not like this woman if she ever met her. Anyone that had made Uncle Vanni sound that miserable was not a nice person.

Luke was her grandson.

Harrington was the name he had chosen to use for the rest of his life.

It was getting a lot harder to hang on to the thought that Luke might not have known his father had been alive. That he might, in fact, have simply wished him to be dead.

And maybe that was why he really wanted to get rid of the house. How naïve had she been, thinking that she could offer to tidy it up and make everything all right?

Dazed, Amy eyed the box of decorations. She should leave it behind and pointedly refuse a gift from this man.