Hot Single Docs: London's Calling: 200 Harley Street: The Proud Italian / 200 Harley Street: American Surgeon in London / 200 Harley Street: The Soldier Prince. Lynne Marshall
in surgery all day, she’d been informed. Could they take a message? No, Abbie had responded. She’d be seeing him soon enough.
Or maybe that should be too soon? She’d walked out on her marriage to fight this battle. Maybe that was why success wasn’t tasting as sweet as it should.
Maybe the price had been too high.
‘Abbie...’ The man who’d been allowed into this private area of the customs hall and was now striding towards them wasn’t an airport official.
‘Oh, my...’ Damien clearly appreciated the attributes of the tall, sexy newcomer. ‘Is that Ella’s daddy?’
‘No.’ Abbie shook her head, bemused. ‘He’s more like my boss.’ And clearly a commanding enough presence, even out of a medical environment, to have had rules broken for him.
The steward was grinning as he started to manoeuvre the wheelchair out of the way. ‘Tough job,’ he murmured, ‘but I guess someone’s gotta do it.’
Abbie felt her lips curve as she raised her voice. ‘Ethan...what on earth are you doing here?’
‘I happened to field a call to Rafael about your arrival time and the ambulance transfer. He’s caught up in Theatre so I thought I’d come for the ride and make sure you had a welcoming committee.’
And who could be more appropriate than one of the Hunter brothers, the owners of the prestigious London plastic-and-reconstructive-surgery clinic that employed both of Ella’s parents as specialist paediatric surgeons. The clinic that had made it financially possible for Ella to go to the States and undertake the risky, experimental treatment that had been her only hope of a cure.
‘Does...does Rafael know we’ve come home?’
‘Not yet.’ Ethan’s gaze gave nothing away. ‘The case he’s operating on today is putting him under considerable pressure. I...didn’t want to distract him.’ The hint of a smile was sympathetic. ‘I’ll let him know the moment he comes out, I promise.’
Abbie simply nodded. There was a subtext here. That Rafael would need prior warning before seeing her again? Hearing her voice, even, given that their minimal communication of late had been via text and email? That, without some kind of intermediary, his Italian pride might be enough for him to refuse to see her at all? Maybe their first meeting would involve a solicitor and official documents outlining shared custody agreements for their child. How sad would that be?
‘You’re good to go.’ The customs official stamped their passports and nodded towards someone near the door. ‘Mr Hunter shouldn’t really be in here. They’ll show you out to where the ambulance crew is waiting. Your luggage will be sent by taxi as soon as it’s offloaded.’
Ethan picked up the cabin bag by Abbie’s feet but his gaze rested on the bundle in her arms. ‘You okay? Would you rather I carried Ella?’
Abbie shook her head. ‘I’m good.’
She wasn’t about to hand her baby to someone else to carry, despite her precious burden feeling heavier by the minute. She was exhausted, that was all. These last few months had taken their toll, physically as well as emotionally, but she couldn’t afford to stop being strong.
Not when she was stepping onto a new battlefield.
At least she had an ally. Given what Abbie had heard about his heroic stint in Afghanistan, it was probably overkill in any protection stakes, but there was also the history of the bad blood between the Hunter brothers. If she and Rafael did need an intermediary, someone who was experienced in negotiating the kind of tension that represented the dark side of a loving relationship was ideal.
Not that Ethan gave much away. The slight limp he walked with, which was a legacy of his army days, attracted more than casual stares as they walked to where the ambulance was parked, but he gave no sign of being aware of the curiosity.
And when they were tucked up in the back of the ambulance, on the M4 and heading into the city, he gave no hint that Abbie might be facing any escalating complications in her life.
He and Rafael were friends but they were men. Had they shared anything more personal in the time she’d been away? A late-night card game and plenty of whisky, perhaps, along with commiseration over their disastrous love lives? Maybe Ethan had reminded Rafael that the odds had been stacked against his marriage succeeding anyway. Sure, they’d been very much in love with each other but they’d barely had time to get to know each other properly, had they? They may have chosen to get married themselves but others would no doubt have viewed it as a shotgun wedding when they’d known that a baby was already on the way.
That baby was still asleep, bless her, now safely cocooned in the baby seat strapped onto the stretcher. Ella and Ethan sat facing her, the ambulance crew happy to sit up front, chatting, knowing that their transfer patient had a privileged level of medical supervision in the back.
The traffic slowed as they joined the flow on the Great West Road. A perfect opportunity to test the water, Abbie thought, but...good grief...she felt ridiculously nervous about it. She knew she couldn’t just dive straight in with what was foremost on her mind but, to her dismay, her voice still came out unmistakably shaky.
‘H-how are things going at the clinic?’
‘Good. Very busy. You would have seen some of the publicity over our latest charity case?’
‘Ah...no... Sorry, I’m a bit out of touch. I haven’t seen much news for ages. Is it a paediatric case?’
‘Yes. A ten-year-old Afghan girl—Anoosheh—who was noticed when her orphanage was evacuated. She got abandoned on the doorstep as a toddler when her disease became more extreme. Now she’s got a neurofibromatosis that’s the size of a melon and has disfigured half her face to the extent that she was being used as a servant and kept well hidden from any prospective adoptive parents that visited the orphanage. Not only that, she’s probably lost the sight in one eye and is gradually losing patent airways.’
‘Oh...poor thing.’
‘Today’s surgery won’t be the last but hopefully the result will be enough to show people that there’s a little girl in there who just needs to be loved. There’s huge media interest and there’s been some offers of adoptive homes in the UK already. I imagine there’s a pack of reporters waiting to pounce on Rafael as soon as he’s out of Theatre. I’ll try and head them off but it’s just as well he can cope with that kind of pressure while he’s operating.’
‘Yes...he’s good at that.’
Because he could detach himself from his own emotional involvement and see the bigger picture?
The way he had even when he’d been dealing with the trauma of his own daughter’s prognosis?
Abbie’s heart was thumping in her chest. She took a deep breath. ‘So he’s...um...okay, then?’
‘Seems to be.’ There was a short silence, as though Ethan was debating whether to say anything more, and then he slid a brief, sideways glance at Abbie. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone try to bury themselves in their work so effectively before. He’s taken on every difficult case he could possibly squeeze into his schedule. And then some. I’ve barely seen him.’
Oh...no confessions of heartbreak over a card session, then. No admitting that he might have made a terrible mistake by issuing the ultimatum that if Abbie insisted on taking Ella to the States then their marriage was over.
But the argument he’d felt so passionately justified in upholding had been that their daughter’s quality of life outweighed its quantity. That they didn’t have the right to put her through so much extra suffering when the chances of success were so small.
Surely the fact that it had worked was enough to justify her decision to go? Wouldn’t Rafael be so thrilled to have the prospect of Ella’s long-term survival that that ultimatum was now irrelevant?
Maybe. But there was more to it, wasn’t