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A Surgeon with a Secret Page 4

A cameraman had stepped forward to zoom in on the poster. Dexter was nodding, managing to look as if they hadn’t already rehearsed this quickly beforehand, and Lachlan was keeping his language as simple as possible because he knew this programme would be mostly watched by people with no medical training.

  ‘The good thing about an acoustic neuroma, which is the kind of brain tumour you had taken out a couple of years ago, is that it’s benign, which means it isn’t cancer. That doesn’t mean we can leave it there, of course, because it keeps growing and can cause complications like the loss of balance and build-up of fluid inside the skull that you experienced.’

  Maybe when he was talking to the producer, he could go into more detail about how dangerous the tumour could be because of its proximity to the brainstem and the fatal outcome that could happen.

  ‘A bad thing about an acoustic neuroma, though,’ he continued, ‘is that it grows very close to the facial nerve and the surgery to remove it can cause damage and swelling and lead to facial paralysis. Like yours. But another good thing is that you had your surgery less than two years ago, which means there’s less scarring on the facial nerve and the chances are much better that the nerve transfer we’re going to do will be successful.’

  Dexter lifted his head, the camera changed direction from the poster to his face and Lachlan knew that the next shot would capture the hearts of any audience, as the lad instinctively returned Lachlan’s smile.

  At fifteen years old, Dexter should be beginning to explore the new world of relationships that teenagers found themselves in but the damage to his facial nerve gave him a disfigurement that made even smiling at a girl something to be avoided at all costs because only one side of his mouth could curl up, leaving the other side to seemingly droop further and the eye on the same side to be too wide open and staring, as it was now. Even more poignantly, the unparalysed side of Dexter’s face was shining with hope.

  It wasn’t just the future audience of this documentary whose hearts would be captured. Right now, Lachlan was aware of the catch in his own chest—the kind that had been what had drawn him in to this branch of medicine and kept him here, fascinated by every case and determined to make a real difference in the lives of children and young people just like Dexter. It was hard not to get too emotionally involved in a case like this but, unlike that confused feeling he wasn’t even going to try and analyse, Lachlan knew exactly how to handle this kind of emotion. You used every ounce of skill you had to get the best possible outcome, and when it was a success there was immense satisfaction to be found and that was a form of happiness all in itself.

  This time, Bridget had to reach for some tissues. ‘It’s been so hard,’ she said quietly. ‘Kids can be so cruel, can’t they? The bullying and so on...’ She wiped her eyes and gave Dexter an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry,’ she mouthed silently.

  Maybe they would cut that bit out later because that was when the filming of that segment ended. Lachlan would spend a few minutes explaining the masseter nerve transfer surgery, have a brief conversation with the producer that was likely to focus on how life-changing the procedure could be for Dexter and then he had some time to himself for the first time in two, long days. He’d been busy tying up cases he’d been involved in, to help clear his schedule to allow time for the postgraduate training course, ever since he’d come back to London the morning after Flick had agreed to take on the position as his mother’s private nurse.

  Dexter and his mother were getting ready to leave his consulting room and Lachlan saw Bridget pause to drop a wad of used tissues into the bin. The random thought that he was quite sure his own mother had never shed a tear on his behalf gave him another one of those strange twists of an emotion he didn’t want to explore. At least it was fainter, this time, but it made him wonder what was going on in that Cotswold manor house.

  He’d arranged for his mother’s GP to visit yesterday to give her a thorough check-up and discuss her management with her new nurse, but what Lachlan really wanted to know was how Flick was coping with a difficult client. There was definitely anxiety there that she might pack her bags and walk out like so many others before her, despite the fact that Tilly had told him in last night’s phone call that Flick was coping extraordinarily well. What was the phrase she’d used? Oh, yes...that she had Lady Josephine ‘eating out of her hand’.

  That would be something to see. The weird feeling came back a bit stronger then and Lachlan decided it must have something to do with concern for his mother. Guilt that he wasn’t doing quite enough, perhaps? He needed to get back home and see how things were going.

  No. He wanted to get back home, he realised. As soon as possible...

  An appointment had been made for tomorrow for the electromyography tests that would map any nerve activity still functioning on the paralysed side of Dexter’s face but Lachlan wouldn’t have another part to play until the actual day of the surgery and there were still some boxes for Jennifer to get ticked before the film crew could be allowed into the operating theatre.

  ‘There hasn’t been a date pencilled in for the surgery yet, has there?’ he asked her.

  ‘Not yet, no. Given the arrangements that need to be made, including input from the hospital’s ethical committee regarding the filming and publicity, I can’t see it happening before next week. Is that a problem?’

  ‘Not at all. I was just thinking that it could be a good time to line up the first lectures for the training programme in the next few days. What was the session that Cheltenham Central wanted to start with? Suturing techniques?’

  ‘Yes. With specific reference to dealing with dog bites.’ Jennifer shook her head. ‘Seems like they must get a lot of them.’

  ‘They can leave devastating scarring on a young child. I have an entire lecture written on that topic that I delivered in the States. It won’t take me long at all to make it more relevant with some UK statistics. Have you got suggested seminar times?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jennifer opened a new screen on her device. ‘Okay...there’s an open session available for tomorrow, actually, but that’s far too soon. There’s another one, the day after tomorrow, on Thursday. How does that sound?’

  ‘I could do both.’ Lachlan nodded in response to the producer, who had signalled that they were ready to start filming again. ‘I’m planning to head back to the Cotswolds this evening,’ he told Jennifer. ‘I may as well stay for a few days and get things really rolling. Can I leave that with you?’

  ‘Absolutely. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to get things started and short notice shouldn’t be a problem because they’re planning to film any sessions there for anyone who can’t make themselves available. You’re okay with that?’

  Lachlan nodded. He was obviously going to have to get used to having cameras around more often.

  ‘Do you want to make yourself available for surgeries as well?’

  He nodded again.

  ‘Mr McKendry? Are you ready?’ The documentary crew was waiting for him.

  ‘I am indeed,’ he responded.

  He was ready for anything. Including an incredibly busy schedule with all the extra commitments being arranged and spending a lot more time in his childhood home. He was, in fact, looking forward to being there more than he had done in...well...decades. Probably not since those first school holidays when he’d been released from boarding school and would be filled with hope that being back in his beloved woodland would instantly make his world much closer to perfect.

  Lachlan had long ago given up believing in fairy tales where a magic wand could be waved or a magic place could provide an escape from reality. Hope had given way to acceptance of the way things were by the time he’d been about Dexter’s age and that had been followed by a determination to create his own world. One that he could control. One that could provide all the happiness he needed.

  He sat back at his desk and tipped his head back a little, closing
his eyes as he felt the brush of the sound technician’s fingers as she clipped on his lapel microphone again.

  The sooner this interview was finished and he could get on the road, the better. Maybe that was why he felt as if he was looking forward to heading home so much. Except that getting to the end of this protracted business of filming didn’t explain the frisson of something that was rather more than simply anticipation of an escape. Something that he’d seen in Dexter’s face only minutes ago. Something that he hadn’t been aware of feeling himself in such a very, very long time.

  It felt remarkably like hope...

  * * *

  There was something magic about this place.

  The stunning view from the suite of rooms that Lady Josephine McKendry occupied in the north-facing upper rooms of the manor house would never get old, Felicity Stephens decided as she took a moment to soak it in. Close to the house, the pebbled pathways were straight lines between neatly trimmed box hedging. Then there were formal gardens and what looked like acres of lawn surrounded by the woodlands that Flick hadn’t yet had time to explore, but she could feel the pull towards that fairy tale forest more strongly every time she looked out of these windows.

  That echo of Lachlan’s voice she heard every time she did so was also gaining strength.

  ‘I guess I know every square inch of this patch of woodlands we own. It’s the most beautiful place in the world...’

  Was it weird that the pull of that timeless, mysterious woodland in combination with a remembered snatch of conversation could create a twist in her gut that felt like desire? Longing, anyway, although she wasn’t sure what it was that was making its absence felt so poignantly. Maybe she was just finally becoming aware of the loneliness that came with her chosen lifestyle.

  ‘What are you looking at, Felicity? You’re not getting paid to stand around staring into space, I’ll have you know.’

  Flick had had two days of practice dealing with Lady Josephine’s acerbic comments and had found a strategy that was working well. She simply ignored what was being said in favour of trying to interpret why.

  ‘Do you need some help getting dressed, Lady Josephine?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not a child.’

  The older woman emerged from her en suite bathroom already dressed in what appeared to be her uniform of a tweed skirt, stockings and sensible shoes, a pastel-coloured twinset and a string of pearls. Except that the pearls were still in her hands.

  ‘There’s something wrong with the catch,’ she said.

  ‘Let me try.’ Flick took the necklace, noting the slight tremble in Lady Josephine’s hands that was probably why she hadn’t been able to fasten the catch. It could also be an early sign of her blood sugar level dropping. Flick bit back a smile. She certainly couldn’t rely on irritability being another sign, could she? ‘Right...that’s got it. Let’s test your BGL again.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m not dizzy. I don’t have any pins and needles in my hands or feet. And my speech is perfectly coherent.’ Lady Josephine walked into her sitting room to sit on an upright chair beside a small table. ‘I’ve had my tablets and my insulin already. I would rather be left alone to get on with my crossword puzzle, thank you.’

  ‘Sometimes it’s a good idea to find out if blood sugar levels are falling before you have a full-blown hypoglycaemic episode and end up unconscious on the floor.’ Flick wasn’t about to be dismissed. She unzipped the small case that held the blood glucose meter, lancets, alcohol wipes and test strips. ‘Besides, we talked about this yesterday when your doctor came to visit. It’s the new plan designed to see if we can get better control of your diabetes.’

  ‘A plan that’s intended to prove I’m incompetent, you mean.’ Lady Josephine glared at Flick. ‘This is Lachlan’s idea, isn’t it? He had no right to arrange that doctor’s visit behind my back. He wants to see me locked up in some old people’s home, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Quite the opposite.’ Flick held Lady Josephine’s finger steady as she pressed the lancet to pierce the skin. Then she used the alcohol wipe again, to discard the first drop of blood that appeared, holding the test strip ready to catch the next drop. ‘He wants you to get good control of all your medical issues so that you can get back to things you enjoy. Like walking? Tilly told me that you used to love walking your dog.’

  ‘The dog died,’ Lady Josephine snapped. ‘And exercise gives me asthma these days, anyway. And angina.’

  ‘It’s actually been proven to help strengthen your cardiovascular system. In the long term, it will make it less likely that you’ll get attacks of either asthma or angina.’

  The chat she’d had with the GP at the end of his visit yesterday had been quite revealing.

  ‘I’m not convinced she does get angina,’ he’d told Flick. ‘She’s refused to have a stress test or even a twelve lead ECG done. It could be asthma but, to be honest, apart from one incident quite a while ago, it’s never been severe enough to need anything more than the occasional use of her bronchodilator. I’ve never needed to put her on steroids. The diabetes is more of a problem but whether it’s genuinely brittle or simply the result of poor control or a non-compliant patient is probably something we need to find out.’

  Flick made a note of the current reading on the monitor.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just a bit on the high side.’

  ‘So I should have had more insulin. I told you that when we did the test before breakfast.’

  ‘It’s not high enough to be a problem,’ Flick said. ‘But we’re going to test a lot more often for the next few days.’ She held on to the monitor. Her next job today was to go through the saved data in the device and see if she could find any patterns. She was going to start a meticulous food diary for Lady Josephine, too. ‘Did you understand everything the doctor was saying about it?’

  ‘I’m not an imbecile.’

  Flick smiled. ‘When I was training, it took me a bit of time to get my head around things like the dawn phenomenon and the rebound effect that too much insulin can cause and—’

  But Lady Josephine was holding up her hand. ‘Do stop prattling. Why don’t you make yourself useful, instead? Put that dressing gown away and then take that breakfast tray downstairs. Goodness knows what Mrs Tillman’s doing but it’s obviously not what she’s supposed to be doing.’

  Being a personal servant had never been part of Flick’s job description but she wasn’t going to let it bother her any more than an unpleasant personality she suspected was a defensive shield Lady Josephine had perfected.

  Her dog would have loved her no matter what she was like with people.

  How much of a loss had that been?

  ‘I do think we should get some gentle exercise into your daily routine,’ she said calmly, as she picked up the discarded dressing gown. ‘I can come with you, in my professional capacity, and we can deal with anything that might happen in the way of asthma or angina. I’d love to see more of your gardens.’

  ‘If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.’

  Flick could hear the snappy words coming through the bedroom door but they were easy to ignore as she looked for an appropriate place to hang the dressing gown. It was tempting to leave it on the end of the bed but more intriguing to have a peek into what seemed to be a dressing room beside the bathroom and, when she did, her jaw dropped. Like two sides of a coin, this huge, walk-in wardrobe had an astonishing dividing line. On one side were all the dull skirts and twinsets, sensible shoes and dressy suits. On the other side, muted only slightly by plastic dust covers, was an astonishing number of dresses in every shade of the rainbow. Ball gowns?

  Still blinking, Flick went back into the sitting room. She opened her mouth to ask about those dresses but Lady Josephine had opened the newspaper to the crossword puzzle page and gave the distinct impression that she would not apprecia
te being interrupted so Flick changed her mind and picked up the breakfast tray instead.

  Timing, she reminded herself, could be everything.

  * * *

  Flick’s fork made a loud clatter on the flagstones when she dropped it in surprise at Lachlan’s unexpected entrance into the kitchen that evening.

  ‘Sorry... I didn’t mean to give you a fright.’

  He stooped to pick up the fork at the same time that Flick reached for it, which meant they were suddenly rather too close to each other. At the same moment, they caught each other’s gazes and, for a heartbeat, and then another, it seemed that they were both caught—unable to break that contact. He had given her a fright, Flick decided. That was why her heart was beating hard enough to probably be visible. She grabbed the fork and straightened.

  ‘You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that,’ she told him. ‘Next time I might keep hold of my fork and use it to protect myself from intruders.’

  He was grinning. ‘I’ll get you a clean one in that case. May as well cut the infection risk.’ He turned away, but not before Flick had discovered it wasn’t possible to not return a smile like that.

  ‘I’ll get myself one, too,’ he said. ‘That looks like one of Tilly’s exceptionally good shepherd’s pies and I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.’ He opened a drawer and picked up some fresh cutlery and then got a plate from a cupboard. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t give you any warning that I was coming. It was a last-minute decision in a crazy-busy day. I’m involved in filming a documentary and it seems to take an inordinate amount of time to rehearse and then film and then do it again if necessary. I’ve been tripping over cables and having my nose powdered all day.’

  Flick accepted the clean fork. She loved eating her dinner, alone at the table, in this gorgeous old kitchen. Mrs Tillman always left something delicious in the oven after taking Lady Josephine’s tray to her room, and Flick would come and help herself after she’d written up her notes on her patient, showered and changed out of the tidy skirt, blouse and cardigan she was wearing as a uniform into casual jeans and a soft, comfortable sweatshirt.