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

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      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly to Rafael.

      He gave one of those eloquent shrugs. ‘It’s not your fault. Fiorella is a baby. All she knows is what she wants to make her happy.’

      But Abbie knew what she wanted to make her happy, too. And it seemed as far away as ever.

      ‘I...um...thought I might come home tomorrow. After work.’

      Rafael went very still. Oh, help...

      ‘Just to see if I find a suitable dress and shoes and things or whether I’ll need to go shopping. For the wedding on Saturday?’

      ‘Ah... Of course.’

      ‘I thought you might like to be here with Ella while I’m gone. If you’re free about five o’clock, you could feed her her dinner.’

      A faintly incredulous huff escaped Rafael but Abbie ignored it. ‘If I’m not here, she might be happy to let you feed her. And food is different from a bottle. She lets nursing staff feed her sometimes. We can only keep trying, can’t we?’

      A sigh this time. ‘Si...’ Rafael’s expression was unreadable. ‘This is true.’

      * * *

      ‘She’s doing well, isn’t she, Mr de Luca?’

      ‘She certainly is.’ Rafael stroked the hair of the little Afghan girl, Anoosheh, and smiled at her. It had been nearly two weeks since her massive surgery and the swelling was going down nicely.

      ‘She’s learning English fast,’ his registrar put in. ‘Can you say hello to Mr de Luca, Anoosheh?’

      ‘’Ello,’ Anoosheh said obligingly. ‘I am ’appy to see you, Dock-a-dor.’ The words were an effort to produce and then her face twisted into an odd expression.

      ‘She’s trying to smile,’ the nurse told them. ‘It’s still hard.’

      ‘Keep trying,’ Rafael told his small patient. ‘Soon you will be lighting up the world with your smile.’

      They all had to keep trying, didn’t they?

      Even when it didn’t seem to be working.

      The parts of his life were all there and, if you took each one on its own, there wasn’t anything obvious that was broken.

      Work was fine. Little Anoosheh was a triumph and one that was being followed closely enough by the media for Rafael’s reputation to be growing rather too fast for his liking. Only this morning he’d had to pass a request to appear on a television talk show over to Ethan—who probably passed it to Declan. Far better that the charity projects of the Hunter Clinic got some good publicity than that he became the poster boy for reconstructive plastic surgery.

      Ella was fine, too. Doing better each day. The three-month mark when her bone marrow could be checked again was rapidly approaching and if the results were good, her central line could be removed and she would be allowed home. Even better, his precious daughter was happy and she had no trouble lighting up the world with her smile.

      There had been no objections when he’d been the one to feed her the other evening and he’d done it again last night because it seemed that Abbie did need a new dress for Leo and Lizzie’s upcoming wedding and it had given her a chance to hit the high street.

      Yes. The wheels of his life were turning perfectly well.

      It was when Rafael’s ward rounds took him to visit Lucy, the little girl who’d been in the car crash, that he realised what was bothering him so much.

      Lucy’s grandmother was beside the bed, holding a drink that Lucy was sipping through a straw. She watched as Rafael checked the chart and then gently examined the little girl’s face.

      ‘Can you open your mouth a little for me, chicken? Does that still hurt?’

      ‘Mmm.’

      ‘It will get a little better each day. But only if you keep trying.’ Rafael covered her right eye with one hand and then held up his other hand. ‘How many fingers can you see?’

      ‘Free.’ The word had to come out without her mouth moving.

      ‘Good girl.’ Rafael smiled at the grandmother. ‘The vision’s improving.’

      She nodded. ‘Mrs de Luca had a specialist from the eye department come in this morning. They think it’s going to be fine. And the orthopaedic surgeon is happy with her arms and the movement she’s got in her fingers. Mrs de Luca took some of the stitches out of her face this morning, too. It’s looking a bit better, isn’t it?’

      Rafael could hear the doubt in the woman’s voice. ‘If you’d seen Lucy when she came into Theatre, you would know that what Mrs de Luca did is just amazing. Lucy will need more surgery later but, eventually, I suspect you’re going to have to look carefully to see any lasting damage.’ His reassurance was sincere. The pride he felt in Abbie’s work even more heartfelt.

      ‘She’s your wife, isn’t she? Mrs de Luca?’

      ‘She is.’

      In name only, however. The taunting whisper stayed with Rafael as he finished his round of the surgical ward.

      The wheels of his life might be turning perfectly well but the cogs weren’t fitting together properly so the wheels weren’t turning together. Was it only coincidence that working together to operate on Lucy had been the only time they’d been that close professionally since she’d returned?

      She should be here now, sharing this ward round. Sharing the pleasure in the little girl’s excellent progress. But she’d been here before him today and she was in Theatre this afternoon. Creating a new ear for the patient she’d seen on the morning of that first outpatient clinic together. The one that had led to Leo and Ethan ordering them to put their personal issues aside and work together properly again. But they weren’t, were they? Even this patient they’d worked so hard on together was now being followed up on at different times.

      His time with Ella was wonderful but she would only allow him to do things for her when Abbie wasn’t there.

      There was nothing wrong with his home either, except that the only time Abbie had gone there had been when he had been here, looking after Ella.

      How could they possibly put things right when they were beginning to shape their lives into completely separate wheels? It wouldn’t matter how smoothly they turned, it wouldn’t be any kind of a marriage and he wouldn’t blame Abbie for deciding it wasn’t good enough.

      Somehow he had to get the cogs to fit inside each other. To show Abbie that, by doing so, the ‘machine’ of them being together would be stronger. Able to do so much more. Could last for ever, like a beautifully crafted clock.

      But marriage wasn’t a machine, was it? He was thinking about this all the wrong way. And maybe it was that kind of thinking that had caused their problems right from the start.

      Waiting by the lift when he’d left his junior staff to follow СКАЧАТЬ