A Surgeon with a Secret Page 3

  Tilly wiped her hand on her apron before taking Flick’s and grasping it warmly. ‘I am.’ She turned back to the oven to take out a steaming tray. ‘I expect Her Ladyship’s probably been telling you how useless I am with needles or the sight of blood.’

  Lachlan knew perfectly well that Flick had heard even more disparaging comments about Tilly but there was no flicker of agreement on her face. Instead, she took another deep, appreciative sniff. ‘She did say that she was ready for her dinner and I can see why she must be looking forward to it. Oh, wow...are those Yorkshire puddings? I tried to make them once and they came out like punctured tyres.’

  Lachlan joined in the laughter and the kitchen suddenly seemed even more homely and welcoming than he’d remembered it being.

  ‘Sit yourselves down,’ Mrs Tillman ordered. ‘I’ll serve up, take a tray upstairs and then I’ll be off home to my Jack. He’ll be wanting his dinner, too. Lachlan, you can show Flick here where her rooms are, can’t you?’

  ‘It would be my pleasure.’ Lachlan smiled at Flick. ‘Tilly’s made up the best suite in the house for you.’

  ‘But...’ Flick was frowning. ‘I haven’t decided whether I’m staying or not.’

  ‘You can’t drive back to London tonight. Not when you’re jet-lagged and hungry. Besides—’ he tried another smile—the one where he knew that those shutters came down for a blink of time ‘—I just happen to have a highly recommended bottle of Australian wine in the fridge and this seems like the perfect moment to open it.’

  Flick’s face stilled and she was holding their eye contact. Lachlan knew he should break it before it became far more significant than it actually was, but he couldn’t. He was caught by something he could see in that blueness that was even darker in this shadowy old kitchen. Something he couldn’t begin to define but it was doing something weird to him. This had nothing to do with the overwhelming attraction he’d been aware of when he’d first set eyes on this woman. No...whatever this was, it was making him feel both sad and happy at the same time. What on earth was that about?

  It was a moment that felt utterly silent, which was crazy because there was a background of busy clattering of plates and pans and cutlery. A moment that also felt a lot longer than it probably was. It was Flick who shifted her gaze first.

  ‘Go on, then,’ she said. There was a smile in her voice even if it didn’t quite reach her lips. ‘I reckon that’s the best offer I’ve had all day.’

  Lachlan hid the smile that wanted to appear as he headed for the fridge. He hadn’t made his best offer yet, by any means. Whatever it took, he was going to try and make sure that Flick would decide to stay. Preferably for as long as possible. Not just because she was the most beautiful woman in existence. Maybe it was because she seemed to know exactly how to handle his mother, which was nothing short of a small miracle. Or maybe it was because, despite it being disturbing, it felt like that strange way she’d made him feel was somehow important.

  Vital, even?

  * * *

  ‘This is, quite possibly, the most delicious dinner I’ve ever eaten in my life.’ Flick eyed the piece of fluffy Yorkshire pudding, dipped in gravy, on the end of her fork as she tried to decide whether she had room for one last mouthful. With a sigh of defeat, she popped it in her mouth, closing her eyes to savour this final morsel. She could feel the heat from the cream-coloured Aga stove at her back and the unevenness of the flagstone floor beneath her feet, she could smell the aromas of the wonderful food they were eating and still taste the smoothness of that wine that had accompanied the meal. But, most of all, she was aware of the man who was sitting at the end of this old, oak kitchen table. There was an energy about him that was disconcerting. Impossible to ignore.

  She opened her eyes. ‘I’m pretty sure that your mother’s medication is all up to date, although I’ll check again. But what kind of other assistance does she need in the evenings?’

  Lachlan put down his fork and reached for his wine glass. ‘She doesn’t actually need any assistance at all,’ he said. ‘She’s only sixty-three and she’s perfectly capable of looking after herself—she just chooses not to when it comes to medication. After various crises, including diabetic ketoacidosis from not taking her insulin, a coma from taking too much and an asthma attack that could well have been fatal if Tilly hadn’t found her, I decided that a full-time medical carer was essential. Actually, being in a rest home would have been more practical, given that I was living in New York at the time, but Mother absolutely refuses to leave this house.’ His smile was wry.

  ‘I sometimes wonder if it was my father she fell in love with or the family mansion that he’d inherited. He was quite a lot older than her—about eighteen years—so it can’t have been too much of a surprise that he died first.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  ‘Hmm...’ Lachlan drained his wineglass and reached for the bottle on the table. He reached for Flick’s glass but she shook her head.

  ‘I’d be out for the count if I had any more.’ And, no matter how tired she felt, she didn’t want to sleep just yet because it was more compelling to listen to what Lachlan had to say. To find out more about what it was that made this man so...so intriguing...

  He refilled his own glass. ‘I was a senior registrar,’ he told her. ‘So it’s quite a few years ago now. I’d just signed up for a rotation in cardiothoracic surgery, which pleased my father so much he booked his favourite table at the Ritz for a family celebration. He collapsed before his entrée arrived, with a massive heart attack.’

  ‘Oh, no...’

  ‘It was quite lucky we were in the city. It meant he was in hospital getting the best treatment almost within minutes. And it looked as though he was recovering but there was too much damage to his heart muscle. He had a cardiac rupture a week or so later and died instantly.’

  Flick was silent for a moment, her brain retrieving something Lachlan had said. Or maybe the tone in which it had been said.

  ‘Was that what made you change your mind about which specialty you wanted to follow?’

  ‘What?’ Lachlan looked astonished. ‘Good grief, no. It was what gave me the freedom to do what I wanted to do. Up until then my destiny had been sealed. I went off to boarding school in time for my sixth birthday and the headmaster introduced me to everyone as the boy who was going to become a famous surgeon just like his father.’

  Flick’s jaw dropped. ‘You got sent to boarding school when you were five?’

  Lachlan’s gaze slid away from hers as if he’d revealed more than he’d intended to. He reached for his glass again.

  ‘It wasn’t so bad,’ he said. ‘I got to come home in the holidays. If I did well in my exams, my father was happy. If Father was happy, then so was Mother and, if they were both happy, I got to do whatever I liked.’

  Flick’s heart was being squeezed so hard it hurt, imagining that small boy who was being sent away from home. Who had learned to work hard at school to try and earn his parents’ approval. Love, even...?

  She kept her tone light, however. Instinct told her that Lachlan would not appreciate pity. ‘So what was it that you liked to do?’

  Lachlan shrugged. ‘I helped Jack in the gardens. Persuaded Tilly to give me biscuits. I read a lot and... I guess I know every square inch of the patch of woodlands we own. It’s the most beautiful place in the world. Not that I’ve set foot in it for years, mind you.’

  ‘When did you head to New York?’

  ‘As soon as I could. I changed that surgical rotation from cardiothoracic to plastics and then kept going with postgraduate study. I’d always been fascinated by plastic surgery. I know that makes most people think of something like breast augmentation but that is of no interest to me whatsoever.’ He caught Flick’s gaze and held it. ‘I see it as a way to repair things that can enhance someone’s life. To improve a disabling disfigurement, perhaps. Or use the ma
gic of microsurgery to restore function even more than appearance.’

  His passion was unmistakable and Flick cringed as she remembered that flippant remark she’d made.

  ‘Sorry,’ she murmured.

  Lachlan shrugged again. ‘Doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t be boring you with my opinions. Or with the family history, either.’

  ‘Knowing more about your mother is important.’ Flick couldn’t call Lady Josephine his ‘mum’ because it just didn’t feel right. ‘If I’m going to take the position here.’

  She saw the flash of hope in Lachlan’s eyes. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Is it too far-fetched for me to be thinking that her grumpiness might be due to depression?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that she’s ever been a particularly happy woman,’ Lachlan said slowly. ‘But her life certainly changed a lot after Father died. I put a lot of that down to her late onset Type One diabetes and the angina on top of the asthma she’s always had, but I guess her social life pretty much vanished over the same time period. She loved being a prominent surgeon’s wife. A “Lady”. A local celebrity, really. There were always public appearances and lots of parties and dancing. Mother used to be a patron of all sorts of things as well and that’s all in the past.’ He was frowning now. ‘You could well be right. It might explain her lack of interest in coping with her medications. And, if that’s the case, it might make a real difference if it got treated.’

  And there it was again. That flash of what looked like hope. This time, it didn’t have anything to do with the idea that someone else might shoulder the burden of caring for the difficult person his mother had become. Rather, it was hope that there could be a way of helping Lady Josephine get more joy out of life. However dysfunctional Lachlan McKendry’s relationship with his mother was, he cared about her.

  The knowledge added another layer to that image of a lonely little boy being sent off to boarding school far too early and learning to earn his father’s approval. Had that small child felt a mother’s rejection when he’d needed his own love returned? No wonder he was hiding behind an image that would never invite pity. A charismatic, privileged playboy type of image that would normally have alienated Flick instantly. But she’d seen behind the shutters, hadn’t she? Just for an instant or two but she knew there was a very different person there.

  A person that was capable of touching something she’d believed had died in her a long time ago—the ability to feel an interest in a man that was genuine enough to generate physical attraction.

  She could feel it now. A tingle, deep in her belly that stirred memories poignant enough to almost bring tears to her eyes. Which was ridiculous. She was just over-tired, that was what it was.

  ‘I really need to get some sleep,’ she told Lachlan.

  ‘Of course. I’ll show you your room.’ Lachlan was on his feet instantly but then he paused. ‘Have you...?’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to put any pressure on you but...’

  He wanted to know if she was going to stay and look after his mother. Of course he did. If she left in the morning, he’d have to stay and make other arrangements and he would probably need to adjust his schedule. She shouldn’t stay, Flick thought. Not with that unexpected revelation her body had just provided, which was every bit as unprofessional as the way Lachlan had been trying to flirt with her when they’d met on the doorstep.

  But there was a woman upstairs who was unhappy enough not to care whether she took the medications she needed to prolong her life or at least make it more comfortable. A son who cared deeply about his mother even if he’d never been loved enough as a child. And there was this amazing house surrounded by woodland that was, apparently, the most beautiful place in the world.

  Maybe it was that glass of wine on top of a good dose of jet lag but Flick felt like she’d stepped into some kind of modern fairy tale. She was in a magic setting and there was the equivalent of a wicked queen upstairs. Tilly was a loyal servant and Lachlan...well, he could easily step into the role of a prince.

  What did that make her?

  A good fairy?

  A potential princess?

  Simply too tired to think clearly? Yep, that seemed to be what it was because Flick had to catch the edge of the table as she stood up, her weariness enough to make her unsteady on her feet.

  She could see concern in Lachlan’s eyes now, along with the question she hadn’t answered.

  ‘You know what?’ She held his gaze. ‘I have decided.’

  She could see right into those dark eyes now. No shutters. He wanted her help. He needed it. How could she possibly refuse?

  She couldn’t.

  ‘I’ll stay,’ she said. ‘If that’s what your mother wants.’

  ‘I’m sure she will.’ Lachlan was smiling. ‘She said you were feisty. She likes you.’ There was more than relief in his eyes now. Flick had the impression that he liked her as well.

  The feeling was mutual, then. Not that there was any question of stepping over any professional boundaries. Something that, even this morning, would have been unthinkable on a personal level and now, with Lachlan McKendry about to employ her, was totally unacceptable on a professional level.

  Flick let her breath out in a sigh of relief. Because there was no need to think about that familiar tingle and what it might mean. Every reason not to, in fact.

  ‘Are you sure I don’t need to check on your mother before I go to sleep?’

  ‘She’s got an alarm. Here...’ Lachlan went to an old, pine dresser at the end of the kitchen and picked up a small electronic device, like a pager. ‘You take this. She’ll ring if she needs attention.’

  And there she was. Employed as Lady Josephine’s private nurse with absolutely no idea what was going to happen. But that was okay. Flick thrived on a challenge. Facing up to them had been what had saved her many years ago—the only thing that had made life worthwhile, even. She loved new places. Something different—and this was as different as it could get. If it wasn’t a fairy tale, it was definitely a mystery and it certainly wasn’t going to be boring.

  CHAPTER THREE

  BEING IN THE spotlight had never fazed Lachlan McKendry.

  Perhaps it was because he’d grown up with parents who’d had more than their fair share of media attention. Or that he’d worked hard enough at school to attract attention for his academic achievements as much as his family connections and had then gone on to garner international acclaim for his skills. If he was really honest, however, he’d also always rather enjoyed the way it made people look at him as if he was someone special. Especially women.

  Like the way he was being watched right now from more than one direction as his introductory part in Dexter Thompson’s documentary was being filmed. Jennifer from PR was in the background, with a tablet device in her hands, watching his every move, and the stare from a young sound technician with a cheeky smile was unashamedly blatant. Even the documentary producer who would be interviewing Lachlan on his own very soon, to get his personal take on the case, was letting her gaze linger without bothering to hide her interest as Lachlan continued with the physical examination of how severe Dexter’s facial paralysis was.

  ‘Can you raise your eyebrows for me? That’s great... Now, close your eyes and keep them closed if you can.’ Lachlan used his middle finger and thumb to pull the skin above and below the eyes to provide resistance. It was very obvious that Dexter had almost no control of half his face. ‘Okay...puff out your cheeks for me. And—last one—show me your teeth...’

  He had questions for Dexter about the irritation he got in one eye due to the impaired eyelid movement, the mouth ulcers he experienced frequently and the difficulties he had in eating and drinking because one side of his mouth couldn’t function normally. Sometimes Dexter’s only responses were a nod or shake of his head because his speech wasn’t always clear, but when it came to admitting t
hat he often drooled or lost pieces of food, his hesitation and the way he dropped his gaze spoke volumes about just how much this problem was affecting his life.

  When he heard what could have been a soft sound of distress from Dexter’s mother, Bridget, who was sitting beside him, Lachlan was concerned that he’d upset his young patient enough for them to need to stop filming for a while, but Dexter simply turned his head to catch his mother’s gaze and then took a deep breath, looking back at Lachlan and clearly ready to continue. Lachlan thought it was his mother’s presence that gave Dexter renewed confidence but he changed his mind when he glanced briefly in the same direction himself.

  Bridget was one woman here, at least, who wasn’t remotely interested in looking at Lachlan as anyone other than the doctor who had the ability to help her son. She wasn’t even looking at him at all, in fact, because her attention was firmly fixed on her son. There was an unmistakeable, quiet pride in her face but the overwhelming interpretation of that look was one of absolute love and that gave Lachlan an odd twist of emotion, not unlike the one he’d had when he’d first met Felicity Stephens—that very strange mix that was both sad and happy at exactly the same time.

  The feeling was almost identical, in fact, and in that split second of awareness he decided that it was more sad than happy, which made it something to push aside as hard as necessary to make it disappear completely. There was something far more important to focus on, anyway. It was time to move on to explaining his part in Dexter’s treatment.

  ‘So this is a diagram of all the nerves in your face, Dexter.’ The medical illustrations department of St Bethel’s Hospital had done a great job of making this colourful, laminated poster. ‘These yellow lines are the facial nerve and its branches.’ He touched a point on the diagram. ‘This is the main trunk and this bit here is what we call the motor nucleus.’