200 Harley Street: The Proud Italian. Alison Roberts

Rafael and the nurse manager looked up as Abbie approached.

      ‘Abbie.’ Nicky’s smile was welcoming. ‘It’s so good to see you. I was delighted to hear that you’d be sharing the clinic this morning. I’ll bet your registrar was delighted as well.’

      Rafael’s smile wasn’t nearly as welcoming as Nicky’s but at least it was a smile. One that was at odds with the wary look in his eyes. Surely Rafael wasn’t nervous about working with her again? No…

      She’d never known him to be nervous about anything. Excited, certainly, like he’d been when they’d seen the stripes on the pregnancy test stick that had meant they were on the way to becoming parents. Fearful, maybe, like he’d been when they’d been waiting for those first test results to come back and explain why their newborn baby was failing to thrive in such a dramatic fashion. And angry, definitely, like he’d been when she’d refused to accept his decision that enough was enough when it came to putting Ella through any more misery.

      But nervous? This was disconcerting. Abbie had to force herself to return Nicky’s smile of welcome.

      ‘I did hear that you’ve been incredibly busy. It’s lovely to see you, too, Nicky.’

      ‘And I hear that Ella’s doing well. That’s such good news.’

      ‘It certainly is.’ Abbie slid a sideways glance at Rafael but he seemed absorbed in the list of patients. He eased a set of patient notes out of a pile and put it to one side.

      ‘How long before you can take her home?’

      Rafael’s head jerked up at this query and Abbie could feel the intensity of his glance and it felt…accusing? This wasn’t something they’d had a chance to talk about last night. How could they, when Abbie wasn’t even sure whether she had a home to take Ella back to?

      ‘Um…it’ll be a few weeks, I think. We need to see how things go. Certainly no decision will be made until she’s had her T cells checked at the three-month mark.’

      Which gave them some breathing space at least. Time to sort out where they were as far as their marriage went. Or how they might share Ella’s parenting in the future.

      The noise level in the waiting room was increasing. A scuffle had broken out near the toy box and more than one child was crying. A woman carrying a well-wrapped baby was standing near the door and looking as if she would prefer to turn around and go out again. Her partner was trying to persuade her to take a seat. Nicky surveyed the scene and squared her shoulders.

      ‘We’d better get this show on the road. I’ll get the first patients into the consulting rooms. I’ve put you in Room 3, Abbie.’

      ‘Cheers.’

      As Nicky moved away, it felt as if Abbie and Rafael were almost alone, sandwiched between the waiting-room chaos and the rest of the staff, who were busy organising the rooms for the consultations and tests that were scheduled.

      ‘Hi…’ Abbie offered a smile. ‘You okay?’

      ‘I’m fine.’ Rafael smiled back. Another polite smile. ‘And you? That chair in Ella’s room can’t be that comfortable to sleep in.’

      ‘I’m used to it. I’ve been sleeping in one of those chairs for so long now that a bed will probably feel weird.’

      And there it was again. A slap in the face. A reminder of where she’d been for the last three months. An echo of the awkward moment last night when Rafael had asked if she would come home to sleep and she’d said that changing something that big in Ella’s routine was out of the question just yet.

      ‘How is she this morning?’

      ‘Good. She ate a little stewed apple and porridge for breakfast. It’s great that she already knows so many of the nurses on the ward. She’s got Melanie today and I don’t think she even noticed me leaving to come here.’

      ‘I’ll get up and see her as soon as we’ve finished here. I…wasn’t sure whether to disturb your early-morning routine.’

      Keeping his distance? Abbie stifled a sigh. ‘She’s your daughter, Rafe. You can spend as much time with her as you want.’

      His nod was almost curt. He reached for a pile of notes and slid them along the counter. ‘Here are your patients for this morning.’

      It wasn’t rocket science to see that her pile was much smaller than his. Or that the names on the list had been divided far more equally. Abbie raised her eyebrows. Rafael shrugged.

      ‘I’ve added some cases to my list. It’s your first morning back, Abbie. I wanted to make things a little easier for you.’

      Abbie stared at him. ‘If I didn’t think I could cope, I wouldn’t be here.’

      The words came out a little more vehemently than she’d intended but it was bad enough feeling nervous about her own performance. She didn’t need other people doubting her abilities.

      He mirrored her raised eyebrows and gave another one of those subtle shrugs that was part of what kept people so aware of his birthplace. As you wish, it said. It’s of no importance to me.

      Except it had been of importance or he wouldn’t have done it. And it was a generous gesture when he probably had too much to do today anyway. Maybe she should compromise. Abbie scanned the list rapidly.

      ‘I’d like to keep this little girl.’ She tapped the list. ‘Grade-three microtia. That’s one of my favourite things to do.’

      Rafael knew that. He’d been in Theatre with her more than once as she’d tackled the delicate surgery to create an ear from the birth deformity that had left nothing more than a peanut-shaped blob as an outer ear. Life-changing surgery for a child who was being teased at school, and this little girl was seven years old.

      ‘And this one…’ She pulled another set of notes from the pile. ‘Seven-month-old ready for repair of his cleft lip and palate. Oh…it’s Angus. I remember us seeing him for his first consultation. That’s another one I’d love to do…’

      Her voice trailed away. The sometimes massive surgery needed to correct this kind of birth defect was a procedure that both she and Rafael were known to be exceptionally good at. Together. Rafael’s skill at shifting bones and moulding features in conjunction with her ability to join tiny blood vessels and nerves and then suture to leave almost invisible scars had made them a team that people came from all over the country to consult via the Hunter Clinic.

      Would she want to do it by herself?

      ‘Maybe I’ll leave this one for you.’ Abbie couldn’t bring herself to look up at Rafael. ‘I’ll take Harriet back, though. I’ve been wondering how those burn scars are settling. She must be due for her next surgery.’

      Rafael simply nodded, took the first set of notes from his pile and headed to the first consulting room. Abbie took her first set and went past his door to Room 3. Separate lists. Separate rooms. Separate operating theatres even? Was this how it was going to be from now on?

      Even when they’d seen different patients in the past, they’d always been popping into each other’s rooms to get a second opinion or simply brainstorm a case. This felt wrong but it was also a relief. Perhaps they needed time to get used to working together again. Or maybe they actually needed to find out if they could work together when their personal lives were in such disarray. Being too close too soon could well mean that it would never happen.

      There was no reason why they couldn’t define some professional boundaries and make it work. Was there?

      Apparently there was. The message Abbie got later that day, asking her to attend a meeting at the Hunter Clinic, had all the undertones of a ‘Please explain.’

      ‘Urgent message, Mr de Luca.’

      ‘What is it, Nicole?’ The expression on the young woman’s